Of Quills and Serpents
by Eliene
Summary: Adela Lancaster is your typical Ravenclaw. She's a beater (as she loves to remind people), she consumes books (BOOKS LIFE) and she has a slight (oh, stop judging. You're just jealous your brain isn't named Numberita) obsession with numbers. Throw in one idiotic brother, two Slytherin gits, a bloodthirsty werewolf, and a goblin intent on revenge and you have one..."interesting" year
1. Of Smiley-Faced Pajamas

**Of Smiley-Faced Pajamas and Graceful Landings**

**Note July 24, 2013:**

**Well, I've officially penned the last word to the last chapter of this story. And now as I go back to this first chapter...all I can think of is how completely different the end of the story is to the beginning. I'm sure new readers to this story who have currently read up to the second-to-last chapter (I will be publishing the epilogue early tomorrow morning) were surprised by the sudden shift in tone somewhere towards the middle of this story.**

**So, as a warning so it does not come as a complete shock (as I will not be changing the genre from humor/romance) - there will be ACTION in this story. Yes, there will still be humor (as you will hopefully find out, our Adela is a bit...odd, to say the least xD ), but there will be some fighting scenes.**

**I will go through this story when I have the chance to edit some awkward phrasing/any typos I can find, but note that writing the sequel to OQaS will be my first priority. If any of you lot take it upon yourself to go through this story on your own...any corrections would be gratefully accepted! :D **

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading!**

**~E**

* * *

**Author Note: Hi! Welcome to my new story **** This will (hopefully) be a bit more light-hearted/humour filled. **

** Disclaimer: I won't be putting this on every chapter, but just know that I don't claim any of JK Rowling's characters as mine. **

"_ADELA!"_

Blargh. I shifted slightly, smiling slightly as the warmth of my thick blanket enveloped me with cozy heat.

"_ADELA!"_

This time the yell was a bit higher, the last syllable climbing to inhumane octaves. I winced, flipping over and slamming my princess-patterned pink – don't judge. I got it when I was four – pillow onto my head.

"_ADELA. IF YOU DO NOT GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT I WILL SEND SETH UP TO GET YOU."_

Well, _that_ got me up. Grumbling unhappily, I hauled myself into what sort of resembled an upright position, my pajama-clad arms quivering as they tried to uphold my weight. Well. Poo to you too arms.

It wasn't like I weighed that much…stop looking at me like that! All I had were three brownies. In one sitting. STOP WITH THE JUDGMENT OKAY. I'M A BEATER. _BEAT_-ER. AS IN I BEAT PEOPLE. TO THE DEATH.

Just kidding. Sort of.

"_ADELA LANCASTER GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE THIS SECOND!"_

Oh. Right. I prepared myself for a graceful leap off of my bed.

Three…two…one…

_Gah_. My foot somehow got caught in the pink sheets, twisting my body forward and hurtling myself at an alarmingly high speed at the oak floor underneath.

Oof. I wonder what my trajectory was. That looked to be an arc of around 120 degrees. Which was strange, really, considering my distance from the bed. I scanned the floor boards, knowing from a previous calculation that each board was around 13.5 inches long. There was around 3/5 of a board between the leftmost white bedpost and my right foot, meaning…I'd fallen forward a distance of 8.1 inches. Hey! That was 2.1 inches better than yesterday!

Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I scrambled to my feet, attempting to brush off the dust bunnies now clinging to the hem of my smiley-face patterned pajamas.

Okay. What did we say about the judging? STOP ALREADY. I'M SURE YOU HAVE SMILEY-FACED PAJAMAS AS WELL.

_Slam_.

The door crashed open, revealing a rather tall boy of around sixteen. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

The boy grinned wickedly, crouching down and tensing his muscles.

"Seth-" I began warningly, bringing my arms up to resemble some semblance of protection.

"Battlecry!" he roared, pelting forward in a movement that was almost too fast to trace. Stupid chasers with their stupidly fast reflexes. The part of my brain that was always calculating numbers – I refer to it as "Numberita." Oh, shut up. You just wish _your_ brain was intelligent enough to merit a name – judged that he was moving at a rate of about 11 miles per hour as he was hurtling towards me. Can we just take a second to talk about how stupid my brother is. _Battlecry_? _Really_? He couldn't even think of an actual battlecry, so he just said "battlecry." How on earth I'm related to him, let alone his _twin_, baffles me. I have a theory that he was some orphan adopted by my parents. He was probably a pity adoption. Never mind the fact that he shares my parents' golden hair and light blue eyes…while I'm the one with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Go genetics. I'm sure both my parents have recessive alleles for…oh, right. Crazed brother hurtling at me. Adela=in danger.

Then my beater instincts kicked in, and I grabbed the nearest object – a rather ugly sapphire tiara that some relative had given to me for my last birthday – and swung with all my might.

The tiara connected with his chest with a dull _thunk_, the metal crown rebounding at a speed about half of its original velocity.

We both paused as I examined the tiara half-heartedly, eying the dented metal dubiously. The inlaid sapphires still glittered as ostentatiously as before, each jewel just screaming "stuffy pureblood."

"Whoops?" I offered. Seth rolled his eyes, flicking me on the head. Ow. What if he'd damaged some of my brain cells?

I glared at him, tossing the forgotten tiara somewhere behind me. I was dimly aware of it landing with a resonating _thwack_ on the hard wooden floor. Double oops. I'd meant to toss it on my bed…must have miscalculated the angle.

Shaking his head wearily, Seth said, "Mum's in a horrid temper. She says we have to leave-" here Seth checked the silver watch encircling his left wrist "-now, actually if we want to make it to the platform on time." He eyed me, his mouth curling into a comfortable sneer.

What is _up_ with Slytherins and their sneers? Honestly, you'd think they were getting paid per sneer.

Er. Actually, I think Seth had a bet at one point during fourth year that he could sneer fifty times during two class periods. I think he won twenty galleons during that period.

I followed his gaze, eying my cheery pajamas and suddenly becoming aware of the way my chestnut hair was matted into something resembling a rabid animal.

Chuckle.

I stared at him, my mouth dropping in a very attractive matter. Was he – was he _laughing _at my appearance?

I drew myself up, huffing angrily.

"Well, if you'll excuse me-" I began, turning my nose up haughtily. Hey, look – all those "lady" classes Mum forced me to go to actually were good for something. Turning on my heel, I walked – no, glided – gracefully towards the door leading to my bathroom. Congratulating myself on my walk – ha, I showed _him_ – I stepped coolly into the bathroom, wincing slightly as my bare feet touched the cold marble.

I'd really have to talk to Father about heating the floors or something. There must be a spell for that. I reached up tentatively to touch my hair, wincing at my sallow reflection. My hair was literally an afro. I was sure to kick Dominique out of Witch Weekly's "Most Eligible Bachelorette" spot…not that I read frivolous rags such as those. Erm. Moving on.

Dark circles shadowed my eyes, which looked dark and lifeless. Joy.

"_Battle cry!_" Oh Merlin. It wasn't even worth resisting at this point.

Seth barreled into the bathroom, the door slamming into the inscribed tiles behind it. At this rate, Father was going to have to replace every single door in this manor.

"The Malfoys are here. It's time to go!" he said gleefully, taking a sadistic happiness in the fact that I looked, quite frankly, like a homeless muggle.

"But-but-" I protested weakly, motioning to the mess that was my hair. He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, woman. Are you a witch or not?"

Before I could protest, he whipped out his phoenix-feather wand from his back pocket (Mum always tells him he'll blow up his arse by doing that. Seth doesn't care) and flung it haphazardly at my hair.

"Seth, I don't want you-"

Too late. Silvery sparks shot from the tip of his wand, doing a quick twirl in the air – Merlin, even Seth's _magic_ showed off – before shooting themselves into my hair. I felt a queer cooling sensation, almost as if I'd been doused in a bucket of ice.

"Well?" I asked. His mouth quirked, his eyes staring at my hair.

"_What is it?_" I asked, panic mounting. If he'd transfigured my hair into a rat or something I swear I'd…

"It's green!" he shouted gleefully. _What?_

Twirling 180 degrees, I faced the large mirror that lined the right hand wall.

Holy –

I gazed at my reflection, horrified at what I saw. My hair was a green – not even a dark forest green, no, that would _obviously_ be too much to ask for. It was a hideous neon green – and it still was a matted mess!

I hissed, my eyes narrowing. My hands clenched into fists, my beater instincts starting to take over again.

"_Seth. Gideon. Lancastar._"

He smiled tentatively, his eyes widening at the murderous expression on my face.

"Now, now, Adela…you're not a Slytherin, remember? Ravenclaw. _Ravenclaw, _that's a good girl. Go back to your boo-eep!" he let out a very girly yelp – ha, let his "fan club" hear that. Yeah, he has a fan club. Yeah, it disgusts me. Yeah, I don't know why I'm talking to _you_ when I could be getting back to more pressing matters…such as beating up my idiot of a brother.

I hurled myself at him, my fist drawing back to punch him in the chest.

"You" punch. "Idiot." Punch. "Disgusting." Punch. "Twat." Punch.

"Hey, you lot ready? Your mum looks like she's about to-hey! Your hair's green!" came an all-too-familiar voice from the doorway.

My fist paused from its downward trajectory as I breathed heavily from my perch on Seth's stomach, glancing upwards to see Scorpius's grinning face.

Okay. What is with Slytherins smiling at my expense? I do _not_ appreciate that, thank you very much.

"Shut up," I hissed, scrambling to my feet. He rolled his eyes, calmly flicking his ash wand at me. I felt another tingling sensation, this time resembling the feeling of wrapping a scratchy towel around one's bare skin.

My pajamas were transfigured into black muggle jeans and a flowy top. Muggle clothes.

"Scorpius, mum's going to kill me if I wear this," I said tersely, jabbing at the light blue atrocity currently wrapping my torso.

He shrugged. "If you want to go back to your smiley face pajamas, then be my guest," he said, moving to reverse the spell.

"No!" I cried. He smiled smugly, pocketing his wand. I scowled, punching Seth to get my anger out.

"Hey!"

I rolled my eyes, striding to my nightstand and grabbing my wand. Flicking it at the cherry-wood chest at the foot of my bed, I sent it in the direction of the carriage I knew was to be waiting outside of the manor's gates.

What? Stop looking at me like that! Oh, I'm sure you do magic at home too. It's not like the Ministry can _do_ anything about it. Father's wards are more than enough to block any unwanted Ministry trackers, thank you very much.

Ignoring the two bumbling idiots that were currently trailing behind me, I strode purposefully towards the gilded black carriage that awaited me.

Oh Merlin. It seemed like everyone had come to see us off. Mr. Malfoy stood quietly, his arm encircling the waist of his wife, the former Astoria Greengrass. The Malfoys were old family friends of the Lancasters, their friendship tracing back for generations. It was a wonder that we weren't related by this point…but Lancasters and Malfoys had always remained strictly as friends.

Father was tapping his foot impatiently, checking the gilded watch that was a Lancaster heirloom. My mother, the former Genevieve Black, stood, her arms crossed and her delicate mouth set in a disapproving scowl.

Uh oh. I smiled widely at them before sending the trunk hurtling into the recesses of the carriage. "Hi guys! Bye guys!" I said, scrambling quickly after the trunk.

"Adela Lancaster! What is wrong with your _hair?_!" came a muffled shout from behind the tightly shut – and locked – carriage door. I quickly closed my eyes, pretending to fall asleep.

"I know you're awake."

"Shut up Seth," I said, not bothering to open my eyes.

King's Cross was a good two hours and 32 minutes away, about 250 km away from the manor.

92 minutes spent in close proximity with the two idiots. Fun.

I made up my mind to hex them if they so far as _touched_ me.

Not hearing any sound from them, I opened my right eye slightly. They were participating in what looked to be a quiet violent game of thumb war, both of their faces red with concentration. I rolled my eyes, catching a stray strand of bright green hair from the corner of my eye.

Prats. All of them. Scowling fiercely, I turned determinedly away from them, staring determinedly at the scenery flashing by us.

"Oh, Adela-" Scorpius began after a few minutes of tense silence.

I turned, glaring at them.

He blinked, surprised at my anger. What? They really thought I wouldn't be angry after my hair was turned _green_?

Seth poked him, whispering loudly, "I always knew she was a Slytherin." My scowl deepened, and I snapped, "_What_?"

"Oh. Right. We're going to pick up Albus along the way. He doesn't want to ride with _them_," he said, his voice dripping with scorn. Scorpius – and the rest of the Malfoys – had always hated the whole Potter/Weasley clan. Something to do with being turned into a ferret. Anyway, Scorpius and Seth had always made an exception for Potter. They'd created an unlikely friendship back in first year when Potter was sorted into Slytherin (much to the shock of the Wotters…although I recall Mr. Malfoy being uncharacteristically gleeful…he went around muttering "Take that Potter" for a couple days after that). Frankly, I didn't understand why. I actually didn't really mind the whole Potter/Weasley clan. It was just _Potter_ – oh, you know which one I'm talking about. Don't make me say _his_ name – that I couldn't stand. He was actually _worse_ than Seth. And that was saying something.

"Oh look we're here!" Seth shouted loudly, craning his neck to peer out the window. I involuntarily looked out as well, spotting the (unfortunately) familiar structure of the Potter house.

I huffed, crossing my arms stubbornly as Seth and Scorpius piled out of the carriage to get Potter. As soon as they were gone, I grabbed my wand and frantically began tapping at my hair. Come on – I _had _to be able to fix this! I could _not_ face the whole school like this. It simply would not do.

"CHANGE BACK. DAMN YOU. STUPID BLOODY HAIR. HA. YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT, DID YOU? WATCH OUT. I'M ABOUT TO GO ALL BEATER ON YOU. ARGHHHH JUST TURN. BLOODY. BACK." I shouted angrily, progressing to jabbing at my head forcefully with my wand.

"Erm. Adela…?" came a hesitant voice from to my right.

Oh great. Just bloody great.

I turned slowly, smiling sweetly.

"What?" I hissed quietly, meeting Seth's shocked eyes.

"Erm…nothing."

"That's what I thought," I muttered, catching Potter's smirking eyes for a second before pointedly looking away.

Huh. No snide remark yet from the Potter department? Maybe this ride wouldn't be so b…

"Your sister's a nutter."

Fantastic.

**AN: I hope you liked it! Please review! Reviews make me update faster ;D**

**~E**


	2. Five Hundred Bottles O' Butterbeer

**Five Hundred Bottles O' Butterbeer**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone who read! Thanks to lovinMaya for reviewing. **

"Hm…six."

"You're kidding me. She's at least an eight!"

"You guys are both idiots. Seven, definitely."

I was going to kill someone. Most likely a boy with blonde hair, who was around 5' 11", give or take a few centimeters (it's been a while since I could force Seth to submit to a measurement – he didn't listen to my explanation that it was all in the name of research). I didn't know how…maybe once I got ol' Bessie back. For some reason Wood (the current captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team) confiscated her from me at the end of the season. Something about dangerous tendencies and not wanting to be held liable…

Utter rubbish, if you ask me.

Of course, people rarely did.

Oh, who's Bessie? Ol' Bessie's my handy dandy bat. For my beater duties. Just in case you were wondering.

Anyway, the three idiots (oh, that has a nice ring to it) had given up a resounding chorus of "FIVE HUNDRED BOTTLES O' BUTTERBEER ON THE BROOM, FIVE HUNDRED…" etc (which made me want to bash my head against the carriage door. Repeatedly. But I restrained; I didn't want to risk losing some of my precious intelligence) to take up their sexist game of "rate the innocent girls of Hogwarts!" Honestly, this happens every single year. And every single year at around this time of year, I suddenly lose my taste for blokes. Hmm…maybe there's a connection there.

Nah. That couldn't _possibly_ be the reason.

THAT WAS SARCASM IF YOU COULDN'T TELL. After all, you're not a Ravenclaw. Not sure if your intellect is up to par with my IQ.

Erm. Moving on.

Where was I? Oh, right. Scorpius + Potter + Seth = Sexist pigs.

It almost made me want to go see if Gryffindor blokes were any better (you know, for the sake of research). Almost.

I wasn't at the point of befriending any of the annoying friendly Hufflepuffs yet, either. Merlin help me if I ever get to that point of insanity.

"What about Weasley?"

"Which one?"

Chortle chortle. Laugh laugh. Oh, brilliant joke there. It must have taken _so_ much effort to come up with that one. I shot Seth a glare before turning haughtily away again, staring out the window and watching yet. Another. Tree. Whizz by. That was the 734th tree so far, 735th if you counted that half-grown sapling 34 km ago.

"Rose," came the breathless answer 63 pathetically laugh-filled seconds later.

"Oi!" came a disgruntled retort from Potter. "Watch it. That's my baby cousin." Oh, so _now_ he protests. I didn't see him arguing at all when he rated Claire Parkinson a 6 183 seconds earlier. Not that I was paying attention to what _they_ were saying. Nope, I was just observing these…wonderful trees.

"Yeah, by 2 months," chuckled Seth. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes for the 27th time so far.

It was difficult. But I restrained. I deserve a cookie for that, right? RIGHT? GIVE ME A DAMN COOKIE OR I SWEAR I'LL BRING OL' BESSIE OUT.

Mum says my violent tendencies are a bit worrisome. I've used Numberita – who's Numberita? I can't believe you've already forgotten. See, this is why you're not in Ravenclaw. NUMBERITA IS MY BRAIN. Got it? Good. – and deduced that as long as people provide me with food/offerings/etc, they won't have anything to worry about. Really, it's their fault if they piss me off. I can't help it if they're annoying.

Scorpius, who had been oddly quiet up until now (usually he's the first one to put in his rating, usually an enthusiastic 9 or 10. I worry about him sometimes. He's a bit…free with his relationships), said, "Seth, stop."

I blinked, my head involuntarily whipping towards them as I stared.

Numberita whirled as I put two and two together. Scorpius loves rating girls. He's a sexist pig. Only people who genuinely like a person change themselves that drastically. Therefore, by the Property of Adela's Intelligence, Scorpius fancies Rose.

"You fancy Rose!" I spluttered, my mouth stretching into a gleeful smile. Finally, blackmail material!

You know, it's really a wonder that the Sorting Hat didn't put me in Slytherin. Gave Father a right shock too. Threatened to disown me for a while, but mum talked him out of it. The Sorting Hat had cited something about "insanity not equating ruthlessness"…obviously, the Sorting Hat had to put me in Ravenclaw because of my outstanding intelligence.

Duh.

Scorpius flushed, his usually pale (seriously. That boy is an albino or something. Or a vampire. Either one works) cheeks colouring.

Seth flicked me (that boy has _got_ to stop doing that), laughing.

"Oh, Adela," he said condescendingly. Stupid twat. I contain more brain cells in my pinky than you have in your whole body. Oh, shut up. I know that doesn't make sense.

"Scorpius doesn't like Rose, why would he?" he continued.

"Oi! Are you saying my cousin is unattractive?"

Seth paused. HAHAHAH try and weasel your way out of that one, _Lancaster_. Say yes and risk Potter's wrath for finding his cousin attractive. Say no and risk Potter's wrath for saying his cousin is a hag.

MWAHAHHAHAA.

"OH LOOK WE'RE HERE! K BYE!" Seth shouted jovially, scrambling over my lap to reach the door. Oof. That boy is _heavy_. He fumbled with the lock for a moment before flinging it open with an accomplished "Ahah!" He jumped out, his heavy trunk in tow.

Glancing back at Potter's disgruntled face, I smirked before landing lightly onto the paved parking lot of King's Cross. Success! I did not fall on my face.

Congratulating myself, I reached behind to drag my trunk out of the carriage.

Two rough hands shoved me forward, and I tumbled to the gravelly ground. Ouch. I scowled, scrambling to my feet. First the hair, then the idiotic rating game, now _this?_ Enough was enough.

"POTTER PREPARE TO DIE!" I shrieked before tackling his surprised form.

"Wha-?"

"BATTLE CRY!" I bellowed, taking a page from Seth's book. He collapsed to the ground underneath my weight, struggling to push me off. Grabbing the closest object (a stray roll of parchment that had fallen from Seth's trunk in his haste to escape), I began to whack Potter's face with it.

"Take. That. You. Bloody. Prick." I muttered, forcefully slapping his face.

"SOMEONE GET THIS CRAZED WOMAN OFF OF ME!" he bellowed, struggling to wrench his face from my grasp. Heheh. I knew those extra brownies would come in handy – oi! Only I can comment on my weight. You do not have that permission. STOP SMIRKING.

Anyway.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Beating Potter. It really is a nice way to relieve stress. I'd recommend it to anyone. Maybe I'll patent it. The "Famed Adela Cure!" Or maybe "Beat Potter - Cure Disease!" Hm...I'll have to work on that.

"Erm…miss?" came a hesitant voice from behind me.

"What?" I spat out, my green locks puffing out (in quite an attractive manner, I'm sure) around my face and covering my eyes.

"Are you alright?"

I yanked the hair from in front of my face, shoving it behind my ears and looking up.

A slightly-terrified looking muggle clad in what seemed to be a stations-master uniform stood, looking unsure of what to do.

A faint protest came from below, probably Potter whining about how the muggle had asked about me and not the person currently being beaten up.

I smiled brightly, tossing my hair over my shoulder. Or at least tried to. My hair was still in that "unmovable-clump" stage, so it kind of just swayed a bit.

No matter.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you. I don't need a muggle interfering with my matters."

The muggle blinked, looking confused. I rolled my eyes; honestly, the muggles these days.

I shot a quick glare at Potter's direction before getting up as gracefully as I could. I dusted off my blouse before smiling sweetly at the muggle.

"Right, I'm off!"

Reaching down to grasp the engraved handle of my outrageously heavy trunk, I half-waddled, half-walked towards the entrance of station.

Three…two…one…

"Miss, let me help you with that!"  
I smiled smugly before turning around, my face carefully clear of emotion. Really, I would have made a bloody great Slytherin. Stupid Sorting Hat.

I mean…not that I even wanted to be in that house. That house was for losers. Yeah! That was it, stupid losers! They were all just jealous of me. Hah.

"Alright then!" I said brightly, dropping the handle and walking quickly towards the platform.

See? I can be Slytherin.

I found myself inadvertently going back to my Sorting…I'd gone before Seth, as my name started with an "A." Placing the old, grimy hat (and trying not to think of all the dirty heads that had touched it before me), I had screwed my eyes shut, desperately trying to think of every evil deed I'd done in the past month. You see, I'd known deep down (obviously; I'm a Ravenclaw. I know everything) that I wasn't really Slytherin material, so I'd made an effort to trip Seth/beat Seth/prank Seth/etc more than usual for the past month or two in the hopes of tricking the Sorting Hat. Slytherin pride was _huge_ in the Lancaster family. You thought I was joking earlier when I mentioned my father wanting to disown me? Hah. I wish.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stop Numberita from starting to calculate the diameter of the hat's brim (judging from the fact that my head was exactly 54.47 cm in circumference) and the probability of lice being present on the hat's grubby cloth (it was a horrifyingly high number).

The Sorting Hat had sensed this and placed me in Ravenclaw immediately.

Merlin, you should have seen the angry letters from home. They didn't stop for _months_.

Anyway. I reached an area about 3.2 yards away from the brick wall that marked the entrance to Platform 9 ¾. Dismissing the muggle, I grasped my trunk and began first jogging, then sprinting through the wall.

Odd, really, this feeling. Almost like the wall is sucking at you. I'd had an irrational fear of getting stuck inside the wall for the greater half of my first year. The wall appears to be hard brick, but it gets transformed into this thick, viscous liquid. Hm. If it has such a high viscosity, I wonder what the temperature of the molecul…right. Moving on.

Breaking free of the wall's grasp – HA! YOU WON'T GET ME THIS TIME, YOU STUPID WALL! – I walked haughtily towards the train, dragging the trunk haphazardly behind me.

Oh great. Here come the giggles/gossip/whispers. Honestly, you'd think teenage girls would have something better to do than talk about how my hair is an unfortunate shade of green.

Gah. More giggles were sounding, some of them obnoxiously loud. I heard my name being whispered, my beautiful name being transformed into an evil sounding sneer.

Gah. Gah. Gah. Why was the train so bloody far away? I half walked, half trotted toward the nearest compartment, my trunk bumping along severely behind me (I'm sure I took out some first year during my walk. Oops).

Yanking open the compartment's frosted glass door, I tumbled inside, slamming the door shut once I was fully in. Breathing heavily, I yanked my hair out of my eyes and muttered a quick spell, locking the door to prevent any nosy gossipers from following me.

Safe at last.

A quiet cough sounded from behind me.

A string of expletives – oh, how mother would cringe – chased its way around my brain as I huffed angrily. Of course I picked the one compartment that was occupied.

I turned around slowly, a terse smile plastered on my face.

"Now, I suggest you lot get ou-"

A throng of red hair – AH! MY EYES! – and dark hair greeted – no, assaulted – my eyes.

I take my previous statement back.

Of course I picked the one compartment that was not only occupied, but filled with the Wotters.

Joy to the world.

**AN: Hope you liked it! As always, please please please review!**

_**Review Responses:**_

**lovinMaya****: Thanks for reviewing! Adela doesn't really hate them, she just hates Albus (more on that later). And don't worry – I'm a big fan of making my characters suffer (my other story=angsty/dark…), so I probably won't be able to resist slipping in a bit of psychological baggage into this one **


	3. Pink Goop & Hair

**Pink Goop + Hair = Miracle**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone who has read/followed/favourited! _Please_ review! Sorry to have to ask, but I really do enjoy reading them and they make me want to write more :)**

** Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Only OCs belong to me.**

"Well, this is awkward." A voice said, coming from within the throng of redheads on the right side of the compartment.

You could say that again.

"Well, this is awkward."

Alright, which idiot said that? I glared accusingly at the blank faces of the Wotters, ready to pounce on the speaker.

I was increasingly aware of the Wotter clan staring at me. Oh. I did. Drat it, Numberita! You've got to stop taking everything I say so seriously.

Well, _I_ certainly wasn't going to leave. They couldn't make me. So there. Hah. Never mind the fact that they were here before me; that didn't matter.

Turning up my nose – see? I just scream Slytherin! Not that I want to be in that house or anything… - I kicked my trunk underneath the nearest bench before plopping myself down next to the closest Wotter. Well, more like squeezed. There was only around 90 cm of space. My butt ended up half-on, half-off the seat. But I wasn't moving. YOU CANNOT MAKE ME MOVE MWAHAHAHAH.

Right, moving on.

"Carry on," I said brightly, noticing that the conversation had ceased to exist.

"Um…what happened to your hair?" came a voice from beside me.

I turned to the speaker, my smile becoming strained.

"My brother happened."

James Potter nodded, running his hand through his dark hair. I scowled, the movement reminding me of the _other_ Potter. Honestly. Potters with their annoying habit of ruffling their hair are like Slytherins with their sneering.

"Right, well I'm off," he announced, standing up. "I have to go talk strategy with the team." He eyed me at this point, seeming to realize that I was on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and thus a rival. Yeah, take that. I'm a _threat_. Heheh.

My arse dropped from his sudden movement so that I was no longer half-on the wall, and I landed with an undignified _oof_.

He grinned broadly, looking down at the matted green mess that was my hair.

"Nice seeing you, Lancaster," he said, laughter running its way through his voice. I scowled, pointedly looking away.

If he commented on my hair I swore I'd bring out ol' Bessie the first chance I got and attack him in his sleep. Hey! That would give me an excuse to find out where the infamous Gryffindor Common Room was!

Visibly perking up, an involuntary smile flashed its way onto my face. James laughed, a loud, clear sound, before casting a quick_ Alohamora _on the door and sliding it open.

"Bye, Wotters!" he called out jovially before exiting.

Silence.

Oh, the awkwardness.

I twiddled my thumbs – YES PEOPLE STILL DO THAT. STOP WITH THE JUDGING – and gazed at the remaining occupants of the compartment.

Rose Weasley sat to my left, Lily Potter sat across from me, Fred Weasley sat next to Lily, and Hugo Weasley sat next to his older sister.

Merlin, the Wotters multiply like _rabbits_. You'd never see sheer numbers like _that_ in a pureblood family. Well, it's mostly because we were in arranged marriages. You generally didn't want to have children with someone you didn't really love.

True story.

"Oh, come on," came an exasperated voice from my left. I glanced over; Rose Weasley was motioning towards me impatiently, her wand held loosely with her right hand.

Huh?

"Merlin, come on! Let me fix your hair!" she said, rolling her eyes. I eyed her wand…what if she messed up-oh. Right. Rose Weasley here, master at Charms. I looked around the compartment; seems she and I were the only non-Gryffindors there. Yeah, Rose's a fellow Ravenclaw. I've just never actually talked to her before…you see, Ravenclaws are a bit…divided. There's the half that's a bit more Slytherin; that's the half that's willing to do a bit more for knowledge. A thirst for knowledge can lead to Slytherin tendencies; it's only natural. Then there's the other half. The half that's a bit more welcoming to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Those are the people that are still intelligent – yeah, I'll grudgingly give them that – but won't go to drastic (okay, _slightly_ illegal) measures in order to learn. Rose is of the latter half.

I nodded my consent, scootching towards her about 3.6 inches.

She rolled her eyes again – Merlin, she does that a lot – and motioned for me to come closer.

I scootched another 2.1 inches.

"Honestly, you're just as bad as Fred!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. I glanced over at Fred, who was grinning cheekily at me.

Well, I would _not_ stand to being compared to Fred Weasley. The boy was a bloody menace and an utter idiot.

I shifted so that I was next to Rose, and she muttered, "Finally" before twirling her wand a bit and jabbing three times in a diagonal pattern. I decided to ignore that "finally." Yeah, I deserve a medal. MY SELF-RESTRAINT IS OUTSTANDING. I'M AMAZING. WOO.

Fred snorted before standing up, saying, "Well, I think I've made James wait long enough. He's sure to be about to burst by now. I think I'll go join the rest of the team." He left the corridor, whistling softly.

"There," she said after a moment, looking smug as she surveyed my hair. I grabbed a chunk – yeah, it was still matted. Yeah, you can stop with the judgment – and yanked it towards my eyes. Whew. It was back to its usual dark brown.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, trying to pat the hair back into its place.

"Your hair is a solid clump," came a disbelieving observation from Lily's direction. No, really. I hadn't realized.

I shrugged, slightly uncomfortable with all the attention to my hair. You see, I don't really have a lot of female friends…okay, I don't have any. All the giggling and gossiping just never appealed to me. Although I remember back in second year I was invited to a sleepover party for the whole dorm…it didn't end well. I think I caused three separate girls to cry after simply stating the circumference of their waists and the rate at which it would increase in relation to the caloric content of the crisps they were stuffing themselves with. Simple math, really.

Looking back, I suppose I should have kept that to myself. Oh well. I didn't really mind… I had numbers. And Numberita, of course. And my cat. But Sir Archibald didn't really do anything but sleep. And claw viciously at anyone who crossed his 4.5 foot wide bubble (I'd experimented a bit; it was quite painful). And cough up hairballs.

But I digress.

Lily reached behind her, jabbing her hand into an alarmingly pink bag and rummaging around a bit. After a bit her face lit up and she withdrew her hand – whew. I thought the bag had eaten it or something – this time grasping a pale purple bottle.

"It's from Uncle George's shop," she explained. Indeed, the bottle sported the obnoxiously bright label that all Wizard Wheezes products had.

She turned the bottle 180 degrees and squeezed (I hypothesized that she was applying around 1.21 Newtons of pressure, give or take a few decimal points). A thick, gloopy pink liquid spurted out onto her waiting palm.

Um. Was she going to put that…that…_gunk_ into my hair?

Before I could protest, she'd flung herself forward in a movement that was surprisingly fast for such a famed "girly girl." (I generally avoided Lily as if she was made of acid. She and her throng of giggling friends stood as evidence for my argument of the unnecessary aspect of female companionship). She unceremoniously dumped the goop into my hair, rubbing vigorously.

"Gah! Gah! Gah!" I spluttered, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt the disconcertingly cool liquid starting to spill onto my forehead.

"Gosh, stay still!" she muttered, slapping her hands onto my head. Not Numberita!

"GET THIS CHICK OFF OF ME!" I began yelling, flailing my arms wildly.

"Stay. Still!" she yelled back, clasping my head firmly with wet hands.

"WHERE'S OL' BESSIE WHEN I NEED HER? BESSIE! BESSIE! BESSIEEE!"

"What the fuck is going on here?" came a loud voice from the direction of the sliding door. Instantly recognizing the voice (unfortunately), I groaned, taking advantage of Lily's momentary surprise to push her away.

"What do you want, Potter?" I spat, meeting Potter's disconcertingly green eyes. Honestly, I hate his eyes. They're too bloody green. Why can't they be that dull murky green that one usually associates with green eyes? No, they have to be a stupidly clear shade of emerald.

It's unfair. I'm stuck with dull hazel eyes while he has pretty almond-shaped ones. I SHOULD HAVE THOSE EYES I TELL YOU. ME. NOT HIM. HE'S A BLOKE; HE DOESN'T DESERVE THEM.

Erm. Moving on.

Potter scowled in response to my question, instead turning towards Lily.

"Lily, where's James?" he asked quietly, his hand fiddling with the hem of his dark shirt. I eyed his fingers, my eyebrows furrowed; Potter was never nervous. I mean, James and Potter had never had the most idyllic of relationships (James had teased Potter constantly about his house from first to second year, until Potter finally snapped in third year and pulled a very Slytherin-hex onto his brother's arse. James was left unable to play Quidditch for the rest of the season), but I'd thought they had patched things up during the summer; Seth had told me that Ginny had locked them both into a room and hadn't let them out until they talked things through. I'd followed her example and locked Seth and Scorpius into one of the many rooms in our manor the following week; not because they were fighting or anything, but because they'd turned Sir Archibald blue the day before and I wanted revenge.

Lily avoided his eyes, wiping her still-goopy hands onto Hugo's robes – "Oi!" Hugo shouted – and muttered a reply that was too quiet to hear.

"What?"

Lily cleared her throat, finally meeting her older brother's eyes.

"He told me to tell you never to speak to him again," she said finally, her leg twitching at a hyper-sonic speed.

Potter's eyes clouded over, the clear green becoming a dark, stormy jade.

"Right. Tell him he can go to hell," he spat coldly. "It was a _mistake_. How was I supposed to know he fancied her?" he said angrily, moving to leave the compartment.

Oh, the plot thickens. I was leaning towards them eagerly, hoping for some more information about this new development. Noticing the way I was currently resembling an eager puppy, Potter scowled at me, giving me the finger. Well then. Some people were just plain _rude_.

It wasn't always this way, of course. When Seth had first introduced me to him, we had been cordial. Not exactly the best of friends, but the bitter animosity wasn't there yet. Then James had started teasing Potter. Potter had always looked up to James; he was his older brother and the source of knowledge about Hogwarts. He'd had the idea of Slytherins being despicable people drilled into him since he was a baby, for Merlin's sake!

When the Sorting Hat had called out "SLYTHERIN!" in that booming voice, silence had cloaked the Great Hall. What was once filled with lively chatter and the sounds of forks clattering on china plates was now desolate. The Potter/Weasley clan had been frozen, unsure of what to do. It was the first instance of one of the Wotters ever being sorted into a house other than Gryffindor (Rose was sorted later in the day, yet another shock for the family). I remember feeling something close to pity for the boy and began clapping loudly from my perch at the Ravenclaw table. Slowly, everyone else had joined in, but it still had the air of shocked surprise.

I suppose James was the most surprised; sure, he'd teased Potter endlessly about the dangers of Slytherin, but I don't think he actually ever thought Potter would end up there. He never looked at his brother the same way and for Potter, this was a tragedy. I remember one time shortly after Christmas break when I happened upon James teasing Potter. Potter looked close to tears, and I'd stood up for him. I'd yelled at James, called him a twat with my little 11-year-old voice, and shoved him.

I expected Potter to be happy, maybe even grateful. But he had been furious with me, spitting that "he didn't need my pity" and for me to "stop stalking him." Alright, maybe I'd harbored a _teensy_ little crush on him. But I was eleven years old and enamored with the idea of green-eyed Potters (as were the rest of my classmates, it turned out).

That crush disappeared at that moment, and he never bothered apologizing for his words, and I never attempted to patch things up.

Okay, I CAN SEE YOUR JUDGEMENT. You're saying that this is a silly reason to be bitter enemies for the past six years.

You know what I say? I say, EAT BESSIE. This is the point where I'd whack you with ol' Bessie…if I had her. Note to self: kill Wood for confiscating my love.

By the time I finally snapped out of my musings, Potter had left and Lily had finished wiping her hands on Hugo's robes.

"Right, I'm leaving now," Hugo announced, shooting Lily a dirty glare. She smiled innocently, waving a clean hand at her cousin. Hugo left, angrily muttering something about "bloody cousins" and needing to find "sane mates."

"You're welcome," Lily said smugly, jutting her chin towards my hair. I reached up to touch it, gasping at how smooth and light it felt. The goop had been absorbed into the locks, turning them into supple brown locks. It was not longer matted into an unrecognizable lump; separate strands of hair actually existed _and_ they were airy and shiny, something that it had not been since I'd forced Mother to stop brushing it back in first year.

"Holy fu—fudgesicles," I finished lamely, realizing for the first time that Lily was only in fourth year and should probably not be hearing such foul language. She rolled her eyes, saying, "I've heard worse. Anyway, I'm going to go find my friends. You should probably get changed into your robes, yeah?"

And with that, she flounced off, her violently red hair swinging cheerfully behind her. Merlin, how _hair_ could be cheerful, I had no idea. But Lily's hair somehow managed it.

Well, now I was alone with Rose. I glanced over at her; she was reading _Hogwarts: A History_ avidly, her nose practically burrowing into the pages.

Huh. I could respect that; I'd read it dozens of times as well. FELLOW RAVENCLAW POWERS UNITE! Heheh.

"I don't understand you," came Rose's cool observation.

Shoot. I'd said that aloud, hadn't I? Note to self #2: invest in a brain-to-mouth filter. If one even existed.

Well, I was bored now. I fidgeted, toying with the loose threads of the red seat cushion.

Sighing wearily, I began counting the faint threads embroidered on my blouse.

One…two…three…

**AN: Thanks for reading! **** I've written a couple chapters in advance, but as I said before, I'd really like more reviews (sorry to be so whiny D: ) before I post them. I know that people only bother reading stories with high number of reviews, and I really do enjoy reading them! :)**


	4. Raisin Cookies and Ol' Bessie

**Raisin Cookies and Ol' Bessie**

** Author Note: Welcome to the fourth escapade of Adela! Hey, she's actually in Hogwarts now! Woo. xD Oh, and I'm looking for a beta…not sure how that process works though x]**

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me. Rest=Rowling's. Oh alliteration ;D The phoenix riddle is taken directly from book 7 (it will be italicized).**

Ah, Hogwarts. How I love you.

It was odd. Hogwarts was even bigger than my manor, yet it still managed to feel homey. I'd always associated large houses with formal, detached emotions. In the manor, only my room and the kitchens resembled anything remotely homey. The rest of the rooms were decorated tastefully with stuffy furniture that we weren't allowed on half the time.

The first years had been sorted and Headmaster Dominus had said the opening words. Everyone was chewing, eating, stuffing themselves.

I myself only had a dinner roll.

OH STOP ALREADY WITH THE RAISED EYEBROW. Okay, I might have had three helpings of the shepherd's pie. BUT IT WAS YUMMY.  
Besides, that wasn't the point. I was on a mission. A mission of awesomeness.

I stalked to the far end of the Ravenclaw table where the seventh years sat, my mouth set into a determined frown.

"GIDEON WOOD WHERE IS BESSIE!"

Wood looked up from his apple tart, his dark eyebrows furrowing.

"Huh?"

"My bat!" I howled, stamping my foot. Alright, I stamped my foot. So what? You would have done the same if your precious beater bat had been forcefully _confiscated_.

"Oh," he said, realization dawning. Then his face darkened, and he crossed his arms.

"And where were _you_ during our meeting?" he hissed, his dark blue eyes narrowing. We had a meeting? Huh? WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS. DID MY TEAMMATES WANT ME TO SUFFER THE WRATH OF WOOD OR SOMETHING.

Seriously – Wood=scary. Yeah, I can see your questioning look, and before you ask, I'll just answer – yes, this _is_ a new shirt, thanks for asking!

Oh. That wasn't your question? Well then. Bahumbug to you too.

Anyway, yeah, Gideon's the son of the famed Oliver Wood. Wood (the senior) played professionally for ten years before finally retiring to be the coach of Puddlemere United, but not before he had a bit of "fun." I.e., he knocked up Cho Chang and left her pregnant with Gideon. But of course he wouldn't claim his own son (the git), leaving Cho to raise Gideon as a single mother.

Gideon doesn't really like to talk about it…but at least he inherited his mother's brains! Intelligence is always nice. Although he did inherit his father's crazed fervor over Quidditch…I wouldn't put it past him to murder someone for opposing him during one of his "Quidditch moods."

"Erm…what meeting?" I offered, glancing around for an escape route.

Uh oh. Wrong answer; Gideon's face turned an unhealthy-looking shade of puce as he spluttered angrily.

"The meeting I've had planned since the middle of June! Didn't you receive _any_ of the letters?" he exclaimed, gesturing wildly and flinging his (full) goblet onto his neighbour's plate (who then glared at him. Gideon didn't notice).

"Right, you've got some anger issues, I suggest finding a good therapist to talk things through…" I said slowly, beginning to back away. I'd just have to go to his dorm and find it somehow when he wasn't there.

"You mean you haven't gotten _any_ of the team letters? I've been mailing you plays for months now! How are we expected to win the Cup if you don't even answer mails?" he howled, looking close to an emotional breakdown.

"Erm…see you at practice KTHANKSBYE!" I shouted quickly before turning on my heel and promptly falling down.

Right, no one saw that. STOP GIGGLING I CAN SEE YOU.

"My bloody beater can't even walk two steps without falling down!" came a distraught moan from behind me. My house snickered – TRAITORS. ALL OF THEM. PREPARE TO BE BEATEN. – and I huffed, my face flushing. I scrambled to my feet and dusted off my robes before setting off in the direction of the Ravenclaw Tower.

OH MY LORD WHY IS THE BLOODY TOWER UP FIVE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. After climbing the 79th stair, I sat on the cold stone stair, wheezing.

Wow I'm more out of shape than I thought. Wood should be pleased.

Ugh. I still had 11 more stairs to climb…I looked upwards, my neck straining at the extreme angle (about 96 degrees, in case you were wondering) as I traced the circular flights with weary eyes.

I glanced at my watch, a silver one with a mother-of-pearl inlaid face. Wood usually takes 20.8 minutes to eat (oh, shut it. I'm not a stalker. I just happen to pick up numbers; OH SHUT UP. I WILL SET SIR ARCHIBALD ON YOU), so I had around 5.3 more minutes to reach the tower, run to his dorm, and locate ol' Bessie.

Sigh.

2.1 minutes later, I reached the top of the stairs and was greeted by the familiar sight of a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle in flight.

"Hey, Dobby," I said brightly after catching my breath. The eagle's face became animated and it sniffed at me with a wounded expression on its face.

"My name is not Dobby! I AM NOT A DECEASED HOUSE ELF!" it snarled, clacking its beak angrily. I shrugged; hey, he looked like a "Dobby" to me.

"Whatever, Dobby. What's the riddle?" I asked, smiling sweetly. It scowled, narrowing its eyes.

"_Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?_"

Hm. The phoenix was born from the flame, and yet without the phoenix, there would be no flame in the first place.

"Neither," I answered. Dobby clacked its beak at me before grudgingly allowing me inside. I flashed another smile before stepping inside the airy room.

I really do love this room. You can see everything (okay, not _everything_ – but you can still see about 5/8 of Hogwarts's grounds from up here!), and the whole room feels quite peaceful. Deep blue carpeting softens floor, and large wall-length windows let in plenty of sunlight. Row after row of mahogany bookshelves lined the right side of the circular room, and three fireplaces were already flickering cheerfully by the groups of soft navy couches.

I bypassed the dozen marble chess tables (oh, the hours of fun one could receive from that simple game!) and turned left at the division between the two dormitories. Scaling the stone stairs two at a time – I only had 2.6 minutes left! – I reached the corridor for the boys' dormitories. Hm…first years, no…seconds…thirds…there! At the very end of the corridor, a mahogany door stood, proudly sporting an engraved silver plaque that read "Seventh Years" in curling script. Someone had taped a larger sign that read (in considerably messier handwriting) "KEEP OUT ICKLE FIRSTIES." Sigh. Even Ravenclaw intelligence couldn't prevent the stupidity of teenage boys.

Rolling my eyes – yes, I do that a lot. NO I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM. PISS OFF – I flicked my wand at the door, muttering a quick spell to undo any protective spells they were sure to have (hey, even if they _were_ teenage blokes, they were still Ravenclaws; they were sure to have _some_ sort of protection). I opened the door, stepping inside.

Hm. Seven neatly-made beds (well, the year hadn't really started yet. I'm sure by tomorrow they'll be messy and emotionally scarring to neatfreaks again) lined the room, the navy blue curtains drawn back on each one. Seven trunks of varying states of disrepair stood at the foot of each bed. Well, Wood seemed to be more of the neat type…I crossed the room, approaching the furthermost bed. It stood underneath a particularly large window and several posters of various racing brooms (yup, this was definitely Wood's bed) were plastered against the cream-colored wall.

I kneeled next to the trunk, unlocking it with a quick _alohamora_. There! Nestled at the very top (next to some quidditch magazines and, strangely enough, a photo of his mum and dad smiling and actually managing to not kill each other) was ol' Bessie! A squeak of happiness escaped from me before I could stop it and I paused in my gleeful reunion to look around for any witnesses; nope, I was in the clear.

Still clutching ol' Bessie, I closed the trunk quietly and relocked it before standing up. Hehehehehhe I AM BLOODY AWESOME

_Crash_.

I collided into something very warm and solid before slamming to the ground, looking upwards while rubbing my injured arse.

"Eep," I squeaked, spotting Wood's familiar light brown hair.

"Lancaster?" came his confused voice. His eyes shot to the bat, which I was unsuccessfully trying to hide behind me.

"_You went into my trunk?_" he exclaimed, his eyes narrowing once again.

"OH LOOK SIR ARCHIBALD IS CALLING ME. BETTER GET GOING NOW!" – I moved to dodge him and slip under his right arm, but he quickly moved to stop me. Damn Keeper reflexes.

"Lancaster. Timeout. Now," he ordered, pointing in the general direction of the nearest bed.

I blinked; timeout? _What_? I wasn't three anymore - besides, he was only a year older than me; he had no right to order me around!

I drew myself up, trying to make myself resemble a dignified queen (hah. I'd like to see him go and tell the Queen to go to a timeout. Because he can't. Queens are timeout-immune).

"Lancaster. Stop looking like an injured chicken and _go over there_," he ordered again, his eyes narrowing again to resemble mere slits.

"NO! BESSIE, DO YOUR THING!" I bellowed, moving to swing ol' Bessie at him.

Hehehhehe nothing could stop us!

xxxxxxxxxx

Bahumbug.

I huffed angrily, staring at the insides of charmed curtains. Curtains, you ask? Where did they come? WELL I WILL TELL YOU. Stupid Wood with his stupid wand stupidly charmed the stupid curtains so I would be trapped on this stupidly random bed. AND NO I DID NOT OVERUSE THE WORD STUPID THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

"WOOD LET ME OUT OF HERE!" I bellowed angrily, moving to kick the curtains for the 19th time in the past thirty-one minutes I'd been trapped. And, for the 19th time, I swore angrily as my foot rebounded off of the painfully solid curtains (_really? _Was it _really_ necessary to charm them so that they felt like a bloody brick wall?)

"Nope, not until you've learned your lesson."  
"YOU ARE GOING TO DIE WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE!"

"Now, that doesn't really make me want to let you out now, does it? I don't really want to die."

Huh. He had a point.

"ERM – I MEAN I WILL BAKE YOU COOKIES," I bellowed before realizing that I was still shouting. I coughed before continuing, "Lots and lots of oatmeal raisin cookies!" The boy loves them; whenever Christmas rolls along (the only time the elves make them), Wood's always the first one there, and he takes the whole bloody platter and hoards them in his trunk.

Silence.

Heheh I am a master negotiator. Any second now he will be releasing me. And then I'll bring ol' Bessie out and tackle him. Heheheh. I patted ol' Bessie (who was nestled on the pillow of whoever's bed this was) affectionately before tensing my body again, waiting to tackle him as soon as he opened the curtains.

"Nah, I'm good," he said casually.

What? He'd never turned down oatmeal raisin cookies before…unless…I stayed quiet, my ears straining.

_Munch. Munch_. The git was eating his stupid cookies while I suffered _alone_ in this dark prison!

"ARGHHH LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!" I started chanting, flinging myself at the curtains.

"Um…Gideon? Why does it sound like a girl is trapped in Xavier's bed?" came a questioning voice.

"Yeah, Wood? What _is_ going on here?" asked a slightly annoyed voice – presumably Xavier's (hey, I never bothered trying to meet every Ravenclaw. I only knew Wood because of the Quidditch team…the rest could be named "Lollipop Joe" for all I cared) – before light suddenly streamed into the previously-pitch black bed, blinding me.

"GAH IT BURNS!" I shrieked, flinging myself under the blankets.

The blankets (which were surprisingly comfortable and not at all the thin sheets I was expecting – hey, the girls' dormitories didn't have nice blankets like these! Note to self – file a complaint/host a revolution. Oh, that would be fun! Erm…moving on…) were pulled off, and I hissed, clawing at whoever had interrupted my solitud-oh wait. I _wanted_ to be let out.

I grinned broadly, grabbing ol' Bessie before bounding out of the bed, hugging the stunned bloke (Xander? Xenophilius? Who knows, who cares) who had released me.

"OH BEAUTIFUL WORLD!" I shouted before twirling.

"Is she on drugs?" I heard a mutter. Well, I didn't know what those were, but if it meant about to kill Wood, then sure!  
I turned towards Wood, who was slowly trying to inch his way out of the dormitory.

"YOU!" I snarled, clenching my fists.

"Erm…now, Lancaster…" he began.

"_BATTLECRY!_" (oh Merlin. I am spending _way_ too much time with Seth)

xxxxxxx

After my glorious battle (which consisted of me whacking Wood with another roll of parchment – unfortunately Xavier had confiscated ol' Bessie, which resulted in me tackling him as well), I stumbled down the steps of the boys' dormitory, my hair mussed and my clothes torn.

The Common Room fell silent and I was suddenly aware of dozens of skeptical eyes eying me.

Fuck. I looked like a bloody whore.

I opened my mouth, searching for an explanation.

"Um…Sir Archibald ran up there, and I tried to get him?" I offered weakly. Most of the onlookers nodded, turning back to whatever they'd been doing; really shows you how infamous Sir Archibald is. That cat is a demon…I adore him.

Some of the onlookers refused to look away, so I lifted ol' Bessie up threateningly. They started, hurriedly going back to their chess games/chatting/whatever Ravenclaws did.

I patted ol' Bessie again.

"Nice to have you back, ol' pal," I murmured, swinging her over my shoulder.

"Oi!" Came a loud shout from behind. Several of the Ravenclaws glanced upwards, smirking as they saw the origin of the noise. I groaned inwardly, turning around slowly.

"You forgot this!" Xavier (see? I learned his name! SOMEONE GIVE ME A MEDAL BECAUSE THAT NAME IS TOO BLOODY DIFFICULT TO REMEMBER ALL THE TIME) shouted gleefully, his eyes glinting in a way that was far too Slytherin for my comfort.

And with that, he tossed down a neon pink…erm, _undergarment_. I watched in horror as it trailed downwards at an excruciatingly slow rate (UM, PHYSICS? WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME? REMEMBER THAT SIMPLE RULE OF GRAVITY? 9.8 M/S2 RING A BELL?) before pooling at my feet.

What…? That wasn't mine…I would never _touch_ something that horrendously pink (OH SHUT IT YES I KNOW MY PILLOW HAS PRINCESSES ON IT. I TOLD YOU I GOT IT WHEN I WAS YOUNG) or...erm, lacy. My cheeks flushed as I realized what he was doing; why that conniving little…

Be the better person, Adela. Come on, use those anger management courses mum paid for to good use!

Hahahahha no.

Whipping out my wand, I shot a quick Bat-Bogey Hex at him before turning on my heel and scampering up the stairs leading to my dorm.

It was only later (after I had dodged several questions regarding what exactly I'd been doing in the boy's dorm) as everyone was falling asleep that I realized that I'd had my wand with me the whole time; I could have simply uncharmed the curtains from within.

ARGH NUMBERITA HOW COULD YOU FAIL ME.

Stupid gits.

**AN: As always, please review! **


	5. Sir Archibald and Love Potions

**Sir Archibald and Love Potions**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed/favourited! Seriously - YOU GUYS ROCK! c:**

_Hiss_.

Red-hot pain slashed its way down my face as I felt the all-too-familiar feel of razor-sharp claws against my skin.

Looks like Sir Archibald had arrived. He absolutely _hates_ the train (as in, he will escape and claw at anything that moves), so Mother always sends him separately via some poor bloke she hires to fly him over.

I groaned, swatting in the general direction of my face without opening my eyes.

No, I'm not a morning person. What a _fantastic_ observation.

Seth once said that I'm like a hormonal dragon in the mornings. I hit him with a jelly legs hex and wouldn't let up until he'd promised to give me his desserts for the next week. It was a delicious week, that one.

My hand collided with something that was soft and furry before being bitten.

Cursing loudly – and earning disgruntled protests from my still-sleeping dorm mates – I sat up, causing Sir Archibald to tumble down from the bed. He looked up at me, looking quite affronted, before hissing and stalking out the door, his little white-tipped tail held high.

Well, I can't say I hated him, really. Seth had brought him home during the Christmas break of First Year, saying that he "wouldn't be seen as related to me if I didn't even have a proper pet." You see, Father had purchased a jet-black barn owl with silver talons (seriously. They were solid silver; Father had made sure that even his son's _pets_ were rare and pureblood worthy) for Seth after the Sorting, but had neglected to buy anything for me, his only daughter. He wouldn't have a "Ravenclaw for a daughter." Which makes me shudder to think of what he would have said if I had been Sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Probably would have disowned me right then and there. As it was, he was furious, asking me how it felt to break "the Lancaster tradition." Mum, being the more sensible one, had talked him out of disowning me, but he'd been aloof ever since. First Year was miserable; I was so focused on the loss of my only father that I had pushed away any would-be friendships, instead spending the year alone in the library, counting everything I could (the library has 2,109 books, 102 chairs, 23 sofas, 111 desks, and 153 lamps). I found solace in numbers; _they_ never changed suddenly and they didn't mind that I was a Ravenclaw.

Well, you don't want to hear about that. On to the Great Hall! Food beckons.

xxxxxx

I bloody _adore_ the house elves here. They're the best cooks ever! I happily munched on a strip of bacon (BACONNNNN. BACONNNNN. Erm. Sorry. I tend to fall into "bacon comas." You would too, if you'd ever tried Hogwarts bacon. Numberita fully approves of it), pausing only to take quick swigs of pumpkin juice (my favorite beverage. It's perfectly seasoned with just the right hints of nutmeg and cinnamon each time, and yet it's not too heavy; in fact, it's light and refreshing! Oh, I could extol the food here for _hours_. I actually managed to force Seth to sit through one particularly spirited speech for 36 minutes once…might have had something to do with the fact that I'd cast a full body-bind hex on him though).

I was interrupted mid-bite (violating Adela's Rule #1: never interrupt the sacred food ritual. GASP. HOW DARE YOU SAY IT'S JUST FOOD. BEGONE, FOUL BEAST!) from behind (violating Adela's Rule #2: I must always be able to see you. I've been attacked _way_ too much from behind. It makes me uncomfortable...although I'd reckon it would make _anyone_ uncomfortable) as two hands landed heavily on my shoulders.

I tensed and whirled around, clutching the bacon strip in my left hand. Hey, bacon makes a pretty good weapon. Don't underestimate it.

Oh. Scorpius. I relaxed, bringing the bacon to my mouth and chewing loudly.

"Wha' oo wan'?" I asked, not bothering to swallow. Eh, it was just Scorpius. Mum would be _so_ proud to see that her "lady lessons" had paid off.

Scorpius looked slightly disgusted, edging slightly away from me. I rolled my eyes; that boy is way too feminine for his own good.

I swallowed, opening my mouth widely to show that the bacon was gone. Ha! I am the EPITOME of ladylike! Mwahhahaha.

"What do you want, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?" I asked brightly, knowing that Scorpius hated when people used his full name (actually, I don't know of anyone who _does_. Then again, I only know around a dozen people, so that wasn't really saying much).

"Your assistance is needed," he said simply, moving to pull me up from my (very comfortable, mind you) perch on the Ravenclaw bench.

"Scorpius! MY FOODDDD. FOOOODDDD!" I moaned, struggling futilely against his grasp.

"Oh, calm yourself," Scorpius said, his voice a bit tense. Huh? I looked upwards (he was about 5.9 inches taller than me, unfortunately).

"What's wrong?" I asked quietly, seeing that we were passing the Slytherin table and walking through the double doors that led in and out of the Great Hall.

His jaw tensed, but he didn't say anything, his silver eyes looking steadfastly ahead. Dread pooled at the bottom of my stomach; what happened?

After 122 seconds of silent walking (or rather, Scorpius pulling, me being dragged), Scorpius paused in front of a nondescript door before yanking it open and shoving me inside.

Gah! I tripped over a broom handle, landing face first over a dimly lit bucket. What? A broom cupboard? I looked warily at Scorpius, who was in the midst of locking the door. Okay, Scorpius=creepy. I considered calling for help and cursed myself for not remembering to bring ol' Bessie.

Wait. Broom cupboards. I may not be a social butterfly, but even I knew that the only reason people braved the stench of muggle cleaning supplies was to snog. Panic rose in my throat; gah, I hated change! Did Scorpius…? No! He fancied Rose! I was never wrong!

"Scorpius…? No offense, but I don't really see you in that wa…"

"Adela. I don't fancy you."

Oh. Well then. I sniffed haughtily, feeling slightly miffed.

"What? Am I that unattractive?" I asked menacingly, spotting a dustpan that I could use as a weapon if need be.

Scorpius looked uncomfortable, his mouth shaped in a small "o."

"Erm…"

A loud laugh resonated from behind me.

"She's got you there, mate," Seth said jovially, flinging his arm around my shoulders.

Merlin! How many people were in this bloody broom closet, anyway? _And why were we even in here_?

"Why in the bloody hell would you think it was okay to drag me into a bloody _broom closet_?" I shrieked.

"Shh!" Seth hissed, clasping his (disgusting) hand over my mouth. Well, I wouldn't stand for _that_. I bit down hard on his index finger.

"Ouch!"

Heheheheh.

"Well, you're a girl, yeah?" Scorpius began. I scowled; why was that even a question? Noticing my annoyance, Scorpius hurried to continue, "Well, we figured you must be familiar with love potions, seeing as you're more or less a girl."

My mouth dropped; that boy did _not_ just -

"DIE!" I bellowed, flinging myself at him. Scorpius slammed against the door, a muffled yelp escaping from his throat.

"How" slap. "Dare" slap. "You." Slap. "Insinuate that I would be an expert in love potions! What, I'd never get a bloke without one? And what do you mean, I'm _more or less_ a girl? _How is that even bloody possible?_"

"Gah!" was Scorpius's only answer.

Sorry, Malfoys. Your only son is about to be murdered.

Grasping the dustpan I'd spotted earlier, I lifted it up and prepared to whack Scorpius's stupidly aristocratic nose with it (honestly, you should have seen how he went on and on about the "delicate bone structure" back in second year).

Unfortunately, the dustpan was wrenched out my grasp before I could make contact, and I huffed angrily before getting up from my perch on Scorpius's chest.

"Adela. Al's been poisoned," Seth said seriously, turning me around to face him.

"_Poisoned?_" I gasped, my mouth gaping wide. Sure, I disliked the bloke…but even I wouldn't wish death upon him.

Seth rolled his eyes (it must be a Lancaster thing) before speaking again, "Not deathly poisoned, you silly twat-" Here I bristled, but Seth chose to ignore it. "Some girl slipped a love potion in his pumpkin juice, and you know how the greedy git loves the stuff – he chugged down the whole goblet," he explained.

Huh. I never knew Potter liked pumpk…

WELL I DO NOT LIKE PUMPKIN JUICE. EW. IT'S FOUL. GROSS. I WILL NOT SHARE A COMMON INTEREST WITH THAT POTTER.

Immature? Yes. Unreasonable? No.

Somehow, the love potion bit didn't really surprise me. Not a lot of people really know me (and if they do, it's only as Seth's sister), so I can go unnoticed a lot of the times and listen in to conversations. Plenty of those said conversations involved Potter, the Wotter clan in general, Scorpius, or even – gag – Seth (I'd had to cleanse my ears with industrial soap after a particularly graphic description of what one girl would do with Seth if she ever got him alone – gah it was revolting), and being as Potter was named "Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor" From what I hear, James had been quite miffed at that one. But _Witch Weekly_ cited the whole "Slytherin bad boy" thing in Potter's favor. Utter rubbish. Erm. Not that I actually read that article or anything…okay, maybe I did (it had 536 words in it, by the way). But only because the blokes on that list are fit! Oh Merlin, now I sound like those insufferable groupies that always follow them around…which reminds me. What are those middle-aged reporters doing, calling _underage_ boys sexy? It's a bit creepy, if you ask me.

But moving on.

"Right, when was this?" I asked briskly, pushing my personal animosity against Potter from Numberita. Later, Numberita. You'll get your chance to hate on him and list all his faults later.

Although I'd always hated Potions (it was so unpredictable; I hated the feeling of not being in control), I'd read every book on them in the library (my goal is to work my way through every single book in the library. I've read around 501 books so far from subjects varying from unicorns to home remedies for various illnesses).

"Erm…an hour or two ago, would you say?" Seth offered, glancing at Scorpius for confirmation. Scorpius, being the _ever so helpful_ bloke he was, paused in his wounded preening (oh, grow up. I didn't hit him _that_ hard) to shrug.

I pushed down the slight feeling of panic that had risen up in response to that vague number (why couldn't they be _precise_? "An hour or two?" That was so vague! I needed exact seconds, let alone _minutes_!

"Did you bother taking him to Pomfrey?"

Blank stares.

Idiots, the lot of them. I, being the honest person I am, decided to inform them of this (hardly) new development.

"Idiots."

"Just tell us what we can do!" came Seth's exasperated shout.

"Well, where is he?"

Seth moved aside, motioning towards the back of the closet. Merlin…was Potter back there…?

Straining to make out shapes through the murky darkness that cloaked the back of the closet, I remembered that I was a witch and had a wand. Right.

"_Lumos_."

An incandescent orb of white-blue light sprang into existence, casting my surroundings into either harsh light or dark shadows. Glancing backwards, I saw Scorpius motion me forward, the angles of his face made more prominent by the bright light.

Impatient git.

I advanced forward around 2.3 feet, spotting a form lying gagged on the floor.

OH MY LORD THEY KILLED HIM. SETH WAS GOING TO HAVE TO GO IN HIDING. MY NAME WOULD BE TAINTED. WHY WAS I NOT PRESENT FOR THIS OCCASION?

"He's not dead," came Seth's brusque voice. I coloured; damn boy knows me too well.

"Who said he was dead?" I asked lightly, moving to examine Potter closely. I ignored Scorpius's disbelieving snort (See? I can be the better person!) and instead severed Potter's bindings with a light tap of my wand. The stupid gits actually thought _tying_ him would help?

"Erm…Adela, I don't think that's such a good idea…" came Scorpius's warning. I rolled my eyes; honestly, what was the worst that could happen?

Oh, shut up. I can see you mocking me.

Potter immediately sprang to his feet in a nimble move befitting a Seeker (why do all the blokes I know play Quidditch?), tearing the gag from his face and shoving me aside (Oi!). I tumbled into the rack of mops to the right, sliding to the ground as each mop whacked me as they fell.

Oh, stop your mutterings about karma. Scorpius deserved that. This is merely…bad luck.

"Emily. Where is she?" Potter asked hoarsely, his eyes shining with a crazed fervor.

Emily? Who was that?

Seth tackled Potter, pinning him to the ground. His arms strained; Potter was putting up a pretty good fight, but Seth lifted weights obsessively (something about pleasing "the ladies" – yeah, I gagged as well) and managed to hold him down.

"Who's Emily?" I asked curiously, watching from my seat on the floor as Seth struggled. Oh, why aren't I helping? Nah, I like to see Seth suffer. It's just yet another example of sibling love from the Lancaster family!

"The girl Albus snogged that one time over the summer when he was drunk at some party," Scorpius replied.

Party? What party? WHY WASN'T I INVI-oh, right. I'm a bit of a loner. Not that I wanted to be invited to a stupid party anyway. Parties were for losers. Yeah, that sounded right! Stupid boys with their stupid parties that I wasn't invited to.

I, Adela Lancaster, hereby declare today to be "say stupid as many times as you can" day.

Wait. Girl Potter kissed. Girl Potter wanted to apologize about. Girl=reason James and Potter are fighting.

Mystery solved!

This is the point at which I mentally congratulate Numberita for being so smart. As I've said before – I'M AWESOME WOOT.

"Was she James's girlfriend or something?" I asked casually, hoping to wean some more answers out of Scorpius before he realized whom he was talking to.

"Yeah, James really fancied her – although I can't imagine why, she's a right nutte-hey! It's none of your business," Scorpius said angrily.

Darn. I'd gotten so close too.

"_EMILY MY LOVE WHERE ART THOU_" I heard a loud bellow from behind me and winced as the sound of someone's face being punched resonated throughout the small broom cupboard.

Potter had somehow broken free of Seth's grasp and was hurtling toward the door. He yanked it open and ran through it, shouting "EMILY!" Seth groaned, mumbling something about "by dose!" in a very nasally voice.

Well, this should be fun to see. Feeling a bit cheerful, I hopped to my feet and stumbled out after him, eager to see the spectacle.

"JAMESIE WHERE IS EMILY!" came Potter's shout somewhere to my right. I quickly turned and ran, this time with dread and not excitement pooling in my stomach; if Potter had made James angry by snogging Emily, then this _certainly_ wasn't going to help.

…But I still had to chuckle a bit at "Jamesie." Heheheheh blackmail material.

I rounded the corner, my feet slipping a bit on the smooth stone floor. Using the corner of the wall, I propelled myself forward around the bend (yay momentum!)…right into a nice little Potter-Potter conflict.

James looked about ready to rip Potter's throat out, and Potter kept on saying "Emily" in this uncharacteristically dreamy voice (Merlin, was I was going to use this against him!).

Oh no. James's arm blurred as he moved to punch Potter's face (not the eyes!). Alright, I'll admit it. Although I do despise the bloke, his eyes are quite a nice feature that I do enjoy seeing every day…COUGH WHAT ARE YOU INSINUATING. I DO NOT FANCY POTTER. NOW GO AWAY.

I quickly flicked my wand at them, casting a simple shield charm. James yelped in surprise, his fist rebounding off of the translucent wall now separating him from Potter. He turned to glower at me, gesturing at his brother angrily. James began mouthing some words, but I couldn't hear them (the wall split the hallway so that James was on the other side while Potter was on my side).

I shrugged, motioning that I couldn't hear him. He flung his arms up, his light blue eyes narrowing, and gave me the finger.

Oh, the Potter blokes were all _so_ dignified. No, really. Harry Potter must be just _thrilled_.

You know, I've gotten quite proud of my sarcasm. I think it's improved (as opposed to that time last summer when I sarcastically told my parents I was pregnant in response to mum's question on whether or not I had a boyfriend. Merlin, I thought Father was going to _explode_…but honestly. I'd never even brought home a _friend_, let alone a _boyfriend_. What were they expecting?).

James glared at me one more time (eh. I was used to Potter glares by now, what with Potter – oh, you know which one I'm referring to – sneering at me at least 20 times I day; seriously. Yesterday it was seven times just during Herbology).

With a final glower, James turned on his heel and stalked off, his robes billowing behind him in a manner that actually looked quite dignified (from what I hear, the late Professor Snape's cloak made him look like an overgrown bat. But then again, my source was Seth, and he wasn't known to be the most reliable person – in second year he told me that Scorpius was running off to Scotland to live with the fairies. Much to Scorpius's dismay, I promptly told everyone I saw. He didn't live that one down until _months_ afterward).

Potter twirled a bit (GAH MY EYES) before spotting me. His mouth broadened as he flashed me a grin (whoa. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever seen him genuinely smile. Not a smirk, but a _smile_…it was quite ni-COUGHCOUGH ERM BACON YUM I LOVE BACON YES) as he ran towards me, his arms outstretched for a…hug?

My eyes widened as he approached and I began backing up.

"Erm…Potter…" I began hesitantly, lifting my hands as if to block him.

"ADELAAA YOU'RE A GIRL! DO YOU KNOW WHERE EMILY IS?" he yelled, his eyes crazed.

Eep. I was now being _smothered_ by Albus Potter. My face was pressed against his chest and I was surprised to find that he actually smelled quite nice – almost like pinewood forests, freshly fallen snow, and cinnamon. There was only one problem…I COULD NOT BLOODY BREATHE.

Smothered by Albus Potter's chest.

What a way to die.

_Witch Weekly_ should be pleased; they'll be running headlines for weeks. "INNOCENT, BEAUTIFUL, AMAZINGLY INTELLIGENT GIRL SMOTHERED BY CRAZED LUNATIC."

You heard it here first.

**AN: Thanks for reading! This chapter's the longest one yet haha. **** As always, please review! :D**


	6. In Which Adela Babysat a Lovesick Potter

**In Which Adela is Left to Babysit a Lovesick Potter**

** Author Note: Nothing much to say…enjoy! Next chapter will probably be posted towards the end of the week (I unfortunately do not have any time to write during the week - only the weekends!). I've decided that I will update whenever I feel like it, but it _will_ be at least once a week. I have a couple chapters written in advance right now; you'll see them if you review! ;D**

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me.**

After James had stormed off, I was left being smothered by Potter.

Seth eventually found me slowly dying and laughed for a moment or two (the git) before helping me. Scorpius joined us after 32 seconds and helped us drag him to the Slytherin Dungeons (heheh now I know the password! It's "_Salazar_," in case you were wondering).

In terms of Common Rooms, the Ravenclaw Tower wins hands down (not that I'm biased or anything). But seriously; would you rather have a cold, depressing dungeon with ONLY 42 BOOKS or an airy and light tower?

Yeah, I thought so.

The Slytherins in the Common Room ignored me, well used to my presence, and continued to do whatever Slytherins do (probably practicing their sneers) after glancing up at me.

"Emily…" came Potter's moans, but they were a bit quieter and less energetic now. Good, the potion was beginning to wear off. Seth had refused to bring Potter to Madam Pomfrey, saying that if Pomfrey knew, then others were bound to know soon (Pomfrey was known to be a bit of a gossip) and that would "ruin his reputation" or something to that matter.

Blokes are idiots; what if Potter had been slipped a particularly powerful love potion? Luckily, Emily hadn't gotten Love Potion No. 2 (I've seen the ads for it; it's designed to infatuate someone for a _week _at the very _least_. The Ministry's trying to pass a bill to ban it); she'd gone for the more common Love Potion No. 1, which only lasted a few hours. I still had no idea who she was, other than that both Potter brothers apparently fancied her. Or at least James did (and possibly still does) and Potter went up and snogged her when he was drunk.

I bet Potter makes a funny drunk. The kind you can take pictures of as they prance around pretending to be a unicorn or something like that.

Erm. Moving on.

After I'd helped push Potter up the stairs (the bloke was surprisingly heavy; Potter was more of the lean build), I watched as Seth unceremoniously lifted him up and dropped him on Potter's bed.

I have to say, the whole stair-process was quite interesting. I think the whole Slytherin house was watching with detached interest (although no one offered to help. Prats, the lot of them) as I took Potter's right arm and went ahead, trying to drag him upwards as Scorpius pushed from behind and Seth just stood and shouted (useless) directions.

The whole time, Potter was protesting and shouting something about needing to get to the "Fat Lady" to find Emily…who the "Fat Lady" was, I had _no_ idea. Whoever she was, I'm sure she was just _thrilled_ to be referred to as the "Fat Lady."

SOME PEOPLE JUST LIKE THEIR BACON/BROWNIES OKAY? NO NEED FOR JUDGEMENT.

"Right, good job, you lot," Seth said finally after we stood there staring at Potter's sobbing body for 52 awkward seconds. Potter kept moaning about "lost love" and "a tragically doomed existence" if he did not find Emily soon…

Eh. He'd get over it soon. I glanced at my watch; judging by how much time had passed (64 minutes, 22 seconds), Potter should be snapping out of it in around twenty minutes or so. Until then, he would need to be closely watched to ensure that he didn't injure/scar anyone (namely the innocent first years) in his pursuit of Emily.

"What house is Emily in?" I asked, still staring at the back of Potter's head (he was lying facedown on his bed, his back shaking sporadically with muffled sobs. WHY DO I NEVER HAVE A CAMERA WITH ME WHEN I NEED ONE? THIS IS A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY ARGH).

"Gryffindor," Seth answered, moving to sit down on his bed, which was the one to the right of Potter's. I glanced over, eying the multiple posters of various singers (all female, I noted with distaste; each one skimpier than the last) that were plastered over the bedposts and walls.

Huh. I'd never heard of a Slytherin and Gryffindor being together…although Potter came from a family of Gryffindors, so I suppose it wasn't _that_ much of a stretch.

"What exactly happened? Who _is_ this Emily chick?" I asked, observing that Potter's bed was oddly clear of any posters (unlike his dorm mates…cough Seth cough).

Silence.

I shot a glare in the direction of Scorpius and Seth, making sure that each one had at least 5.7 seconds of uncomfortable scrutiny. Scorpius shifted slightly, fiddling with a broomstick figurine that was on the nightstand next to him. Hehehehe I AM _SO _GOOD AT THE ADELA STARE WOO.

"Emily Knightcast." It was Scorpius that finally broke (Seth is a bit more immune to the Adela Stare, seeing as he's been subject to it countless times in the past; seriously – even _I_ can't keep track of how many times I've glared at him…all for good reason, of course).

"Never heard of her."

Scorpius scoffed; I glanced over to him and saw that he was staring at me like he expected me to say "Just kidding!"

Well, he wasn't going to get that. I shrugged, signifying that I had no idea who she was.

"Oh, right. Forgot that you don't know anyone," Scorpius said simply. I bristled; although he hadn't meant to be mean, I knew _some_ people.

"I know people!" I retorted, plopping myself down on Potter's trunk and crossing my arms.

"Right," Scorpius said disbelievingly. "_You_, Miss 'I don't even know the names of the people who live in my own dorm.'"

"Hey!" I looked over at Seth, expecting him to go all "Protective Big Brother" and beat Scorpius up (well, he _was_ technically 2.5 minutes older than me!). Seth shrugged, smiling innocently.

"Sorry, sis. You're not exactly known as a social butterfly," he said, smirking a bit.

Prat. Just because I preferred the company of ol' Bessie/Sir Archibald/Numberita/books (BOOKS=LIFE. DON'T LET ANYONE EVER TELL YOU SOMETHING DIFFERENT) didn't mean that I had no friends.

"I know the names of the people who live in my dorm!" I retorted. I really didn't. Wait! I knew Rose! Ha!

"Really. Like who?" Seth asked skeptically. I smiled smugly, shooting Scorpius a knowing look before saying, "Rose Weasley." Scorpius flinched before becoming motionless once again.

"Right, that's one," Seth said, not noticing Scorpius's reaction (honestly. He's a horrible friend; aren't mates supposed to gossip about crushes together? Wait. Or is that what girls do? …OH SHUT IT. ALRIGHT SO MAYBE I HAVEN'T EXACTLY HAD ANY REAL FRIENDS. SO WHAT. I HAD OL' BESSIE).

"What about the rest?"

Drat. Stupid Scorpius. Huh. What was that girl's name…the one who always was particularly mean to Sir Archibald (she kept complaining that Sir Archibald "scratched" her whenever she tried reaching her trunk. It's her fault for putting her trunk right in the spot where he likes to sunbathe. Honestly, she should know better.)? Something with an "H." Helga? Hufflepuff? Horace? Harry?

Merlin, of course I'd remember the names of old blokes rather than the people in my dorm.

Whatever, I'd just have to pick a random one and hope for the best.

"HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"

Facepalm. Why did I say that? In my quest to read all the books in the library, I'd happened upon a couple muggle books (don't tell Father!), and the one I was currently reading was some book about this muggle named "Huckleberry Finn." It was actually quite interesting…but even Seth could tell that "Huckleberry Finn" was hardly a name fit for a girl (even if he hadn't ever bothered reading muggle literature).

"You," Seth began, clearly relishing the moment. Prick. "Are an idiot."

My jaw dropped; _he_ was calling _me_ (THE RAVENCLAW MIND YOU) an _idiot_?

Scorpius must have seen the dangerous glint in my eye, because he slowly backed up, dragging Seth with him.

"Mate…"

Seth looked at me, his eyes widening when he saw my clenched fists.

"Erm…OH I AM SO HUNGRY RIGHT NOW. RIGHT YOU CAN STAY HERE AND WATCH ALBUS TO MAKE SURE HE DOESN'T GO JUMP OUT OF A WINDOW OR SOMETHING KTHANKSBYE!" he said hurriedly before running out of the dormitory, dragging Scorpius with him.

Well. That was a Slytherin move. I stared after their retreating backs, still watching the door for a good 15 seconds after it had slammed shut behind them.

Note to self: kill Seth and Scorpius as soon as possible. Preferably using a butter knife. Butter knives are cool.

Sighing wearily, I swiveled my body so that I was now facing Potter's bed, my knees pressing against the very edge of his dark green comforter. Bracing my chin in the palms of my hands, I groaned as I realized that Potter had fallen asleep…facedown. What if he suffocated? I slid off the trunk (cursing softly when the back of my knee scraped against the golden lock) and padded over to the side of the bed, eying him warily. Should I just…reach over and turn his head? He probably wasn't going to wake up, seeing as he was sleeping off the potion's effects and was thus in a deep sleep.

I gingerly reached over, my stomach pressing against the bed as I tried to reach him without going directly on the bed (what? I have limits!). My fingers brushed against his silky – GAH. WAIT NO. HIS HAIR WAS GROSS. EW. IT CERTAINLY WAS NOT SUPER SOFT – hair, but I couldn't get a good enough grip to turn his head. Argh.

I realized with a sinking feeling that I could barely see his back move anymore; what if he was DEAD? AND THEN I WOULD HAVE TO GO INTO HIDING. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

Feeling panicked, I leaped onto the bed and pushed his arm roughly, putting all my Beater strength into it.

Potter rolled over, tumbling to the ground with a muffled yelp.

Shi—shitake mushrooms! (See, mum? I _am_ trying to be more ladylike!)

I scrambled to the other side of the bed (my shoes pressed into Potter's pillow in the process. Oops...eh, too bad for him. I'd better not tell him that Sir Archibald had spent the last day or so peeing methodically on every square cm of the sole. I'd spent _hours_ trying to get rid of the odor, but it still smelled strongly of cat piss), peering down at Potter's cursing form.

He glanced up and met my eyes, yelling in surprise and falling backwards. Well. It's not like my face was _that_ hideous. Feeling miffed, I sat back on his bed and turned my nose up. I _was_ going to apologize for knocking him over, but I don't think I'll do that anymore.

"Why the fuck are you on my bed?" Potter yelled loudly. I winced at the loud sound; Merlin, people in _Albania_ could have heard him. Well, looks like the Potter we all know and hate is back. Strangely enough, I felt a bit relieved; I wasn't sure what to do with the love potion Potter…he had broken from his little category (you know – some people are friends, some are gits, some are those people that refuse to stop chewing on the ends of their quills…etc) and it scared me. I like things to be orderly, pristine…unchanging. Goes back to the whole loving numbers thing I suppose.

"Because," I said snidely. Actually, I had no idea why I was still on it. Maybe because it was comfier – _hey!_ Why is _every_ bed comfier than mine? Note to self: file another complaint about the quality of Adela Lancaster's bed.

Potter got to his feet (Great. Now he towered over me) and glowered at me.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I felt my cheeks beginning to flush. Stupid pale skin.

Thankfully, Potter didn't comment on my blush; he was too busy gaping at me. Well, I suppose he hadn't expected _that_ question. In all honesty, I hadn't either.

"I don't hate you," he said lamely, running his hand through his hair (MERLIN WHY DOES HE INSIST ON DOING THAT ALL. THE. BLOODY. TIME.) and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yeah you do."

The words slipped out before I could shut my mouth. Ugh. Note to self #2: Tape mouth shut whenever I'm near Potter.

"No, I don't," Potter said, this time sounding a bit surprised. He sat down on the bed (a good 3.5 feet to my right) and turned to face me. Wow, I think this is the longest we've gone without yelling/slapping/sneering at one another.

"Potter. You sneer at me every 22.56 minutes on average," I said. He raised an eyebrow and I flushed again; WHY DOES POTTER HAVE SUCH EXPRESSIVE EYEBROWS.

"That's a specific number," he observed (no, _really_).

"Of course. Why settle for vague assumptions when you can have hard facts?" I said, blinking in surprise.

"Right," he said slowly, clearly thinking that I was insane. OH STOP POTTER. I SAW YOU CALL YOUR BROOMSTICK FIREY (which, by the way, is a terribly unoriginal name for a_ Fire_bolt 1000) THE OTHER DAY.

"What's with you and Emily?" I asked, changing the subject hurriedly. Better get off this awkward topic as soon as possible…I didn't want him thinking I _cared_ that we hated each other.

That would be bad. Like, forgetting-to-feed-Sir-Archibald-and-having-him-go-after-you bad. And believe you me, _that_ situation is horrifying.

Silence.

Alright, what is _up_ with blokes and ignoring me? What, do I have a sign on my forehead that says "SPEAK TO THIS GIRL UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH" or something? Although, this was Potter, so I suppose I didn't really expect him to answer anyway.

"I was drunk and pissed off at James for ignoring me," he said quietly after 32 seconds. Huh? My head whipped towards him (Ow. Yup, that's whiplash) as I gaped at him. Wait. If I make a big deal out of this he'll stop talking. I quickly smoothed my face into something that hopefully resembled that of a muggle psychologist.

I'd thought he and James had made up? Why was James ignoring him? Noticing my questioning look, Potter added, "After mum forced us to make up, James stopped insulting me and I him. We had an uneasy truce of sorts…but he spurned all my efforts to really _talk_ to him." A wounded expression flashed briefly on Potter's face but was quickly replaced by the typical impassiveness that Potter wore all the time. Huh. I hadn't known that Potter still looked up to James.

"I was angry, drunk, and I wanted to get back at him…my brother," Potter laughed, an empty, hollow sound that was void of any mirth. I shivered slightly; sure, Potter was downright vicious at times, but he was always joking around with Seth and Scorpius. I wasn't sure what to make of this new side of him.

"So I kissed her. Mind you, she hardly resisted. James found us…and, well. You know the rest," he finished, his voice drenched with bitterness.

"I…I'm sorry," I said, my voice faltering; well, what was a girl to say to _that_? I'd never even really held a decent conversation with the bloke, let alone listened to his life story!

Potter stiffened, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing a bit. Well, looks like he finally realized who he was talking to.

"I don't need your _pity_," he spat, standing up abruptly. I stared wide-eyed at him. Well, this was familiar. My mind flashed back to the time back in first year…he'd said the exact same words. What was with him and pity?

Right, well, I was going to leave before he could kick me out. I stood up wordlessly from the bed and brushed past him, steadfastly ignoring his angry gaze (woo for self restraint! Adela: 1. Potter: 0).  
His words whirled through my head, each syllable intertwining itself until the whole conversation resembled a bloody cobweb. Come on, Numberita. We have to figure this out.

And so the plot thickens.

**AN: Thanks so much for reading! As always, please review! **** Reviews lead to updates! ;D**


	7. Of Amortentia and Emotional Girls

**Of Amortentia and Emotional Girls**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! **

GAH. I CANNOT FIND MY QUILLS. GAH. GAH. GAH.

Panic rose from my stomach, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my throat. I dove back into my trunk, my arms flailing as various articles of clothing and books were thrown out of the trunk.

You see, quills are kind of _my_ thing. You know – everyone has that one thing that's completely _theirs_. For Seth, it's Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (seriously. He's obsessed with the stuff). Scorpius has that ridiculously expensive cologne he has custom made for himself (the boy practically _bathes_ in that stuff. It doesn't even smell that pleasant; it's smells like new leather - SERIOUSLY. LEATHER IS DEAD ANIMAL SKIN. SKIN I TELL YOU - and some type of spicy herb). For me, it's quills.

When I was younger, Father and I would spend hours in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in Hogsmeade while mum and Seth went to Honeydukes (to buy Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, of course). Both mum and Seth adored the stuff and we got to see a bit of the "undignified" mum whenever she tried the stuff; she'd bet with Seth who could down the most beans in one go and Seth would dare her to try the particularly suspicious-looking ones. But quills? Quills were for Father and me. Father had – has – a rather impressive quill collection – the best in the Wizarding World, I'd reckon. Some purebloods choose to collect precious jewels or even rare books. Father chooses quills. I suppose I got _that_ from him. Although he doesn't really talk to me anymore (goes with the whole being in Ravenclaw thing), I feel connected with him whenever I touch a quill.

It's a nice feeling.

But this? This was certainly _not_ pleasant. I'd somehow lost my collection of 37 rare quills (DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE DIRENESS OF THIS SITUATION? I SPENT YEARS COLLECTING THEM. _YEARS_) in the span of four hours.

I'll repeat – GAH GAH GAH.

I spared a second to quickly glance at my watch; two minutes, 10 seconds until Potions. And of course the Potions classroom is down six flights of stairs and across 140 feet to the right.

I bring my quill collection with me wherever I go. Oh, stop already with the judgment; DON'T MAKE ME BRING OUT OL' BESSIE. Which reminds me…I have a Quidditch practice tomorrow. Which should be interesting, considering how I tackled our Captain yesterday.

Hey, maybe he'll give us the day off to show his appreciation of my technique during the tackle! Wood's always talking about building up arm strength, so he must have been _glad_ to see it when I slapped him with the parchment roll.

HAHAHHAHAHAHA no.

The day Wood cancelled Quidditch practice was the day Voldemort came back wearing pink undergarments and danced on the tables to some muggle song.

GAH MENTAL IMAGES GAH.

HELP SOMEONE GET THESE IMAGES OUT. I ran to the connected bathroom and turned on the faucet, thrusting my (open) eyes under the running water.

ARGH IT BURNS – LITERALLY.

You know, sometimes I really _am_ an idiot. Don't tell Seth I said that. Cursing my stupidity, I lifted my head out of the sink (bumping it quite painfully on the faucet) and turned off the water, stomping around blearily while I waited for my eyes to stop feeling like Sir Archibald had just clawed them out.

I looked at my watch, squinting as I tried to make out the blurred numbers. Crud. I was 62 seconds late!

I fumbled around a bit for my wand, finding (but not until I'd accidentally jabbed Sir Archibald, resulting in an angry hiss) it under my bed and shoving it into the pocket of my robes. I grabbed my bag, wincing a bit at the weight (what? You don't expect me to leave without ol' Bessie and a healthy supply of books, now do you? You never know when they might come in handy…). Hm. This is the part where I'd stuff my quills (no, of course I don't take all thirty-seven with me! That would be insane _and_ impractical. No, I only take seventeen, which is a nice, _practical_ number. Who would need thirty-seven quills? No one! But seventeen…yeah, that was a nice number) into the side pocket of my bag…I pushed down the feelings of remorse, instead running out of the deserted dorm and down the stairs into the Tower. A few first-years looked at me curiously (ah, to be a first year again with limitless free periods!) as I stumbled through the room, swearing as my bleary eyes led me into one of the countless chess tables that lined the perimeter.

Well, this walk should be fun.

xxxxxx

I hate Potions. It's so…_vague_. Sure, there are instructions such as "turn three times counterclockwise" or something to that matter, but it never says what the diameter of that circular turn should be! Should it be a tight circle with a 15 cm diameter, or a large circle with a 30 cm diameter? And don't even get me started about the _rate_. Should we be stirring at a rate of 15 cm/sec, or what?

SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT TO DO BEFORE I GO BLOODY INSANE.

Mum always says I'm "special." Seth snorted when I told him that (I'd said it quite proudly, too, after all – she'd never called _Seth_ special) and I'd tackled him.

I do enjoy tackling people. It's a healthy hobby – I highly suggest you try it! Preferably with ol' Bessie…but you're not touching her! Only I get to. So there. You'll just have to make do.

Right. Potions. Ravenclaw shared Potions with Gryffindor, which meant that the whole class was filled with obnoxious showing off from the Gryffindor department. Honestly, you'd think they'd have something better to do than see how many eagle feathers they can fit in their mouths (Fred Weasley was engaged in a very heated competition with some blonde bloke I'd never bothered meeting before). Professor Slughorn was explaining the history of Amortentia (I shuddered to think what would happen if Emily Whatsherface got a hold of some).

I fiddled with my papers for the 12th time so far, my fingers brushing against the conspicuously empty space where my quills ought to be. I'd had to borrow a quill from the person who was sitting next to me (as I'd arrived late, I'd had to give up my usual seat in the front. The only seat open was next to someone I vaguely recognized as the Gryffindor Keeper and Wood's "absolute nemesis," to quote his spirited words. I didn't want to think of how he'd react if he saw me sitting next to her). The quill was a rather grubby one, obviously having gone through months if not years of sitting at the bottom of a crowded bag. I considered rescuing it from its owner (alright, taking it), but the girl looked quite possessive (when she lent it to me, she had only grudgingly done so and even then it was with a "Return it or else, Beater." See, this is what I mean – no one knows my actual name. It's always "Seth's sister" or "that Ravenclaw beater" or "the crazed one who keeps muttering about some Bessie." Honestly, some people are just plain _rude_).

Where could my collection have _gone_? Hm. I'd better retrace my steps. I'd woken up this morning (the usual way. I was greeted by Sir Archibald's cheerfully grinning – not – face as he clawed at me), blearily stumbled into the shower, whacked my head on the door, cursed a bit, brushed my teeth, whacked my teeth against my toothbrush (hey, stop with the judgment! TOOTHBRUSHES HURT OKAY), cursed a bit more, went down to the Great Hall, ate some bacon, more bacon, drank some pumpkin juice before realizing that I'd decided I hated it, ate some more bac – OI! STOP FALLING ASLEEP BACK THERE! – and went back to the dorms to get my books. So my quills were alone in my trunk (the poor dears!) for approximately 32.2 minutes while I was out. Which meant anyone could have stolen it.

I bet it was that Huckleberry Finn girl.

"-ster. MISS LANCASTER!"

Huh? I looked up, snapped from my thoughts to see Professor Slughorn's uncomfortably close (seriously. I could see the granulated sugar on his chin(s) from that crystallized pineapple he loves) face as he tried to get my attention. Um. He'd probably asked me a question…what was he talking about earlier? Oh yeah! Amortentia. I racked my brain (come on, Numbertina!), trying to think of the probabilities of various questions having been asked. Well, Slughorn was known to ask questions about the potion's appearance about 89.2% of the time, so it was a safe bet.

"It has a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and emits unique curls of smoke," I said innocently, trying to pretend I'd been paying attention. He blinked, looking slightly confused. Maybe he hadn't understood me…after all, I'm sure all that crystallized pineapple can't possibly be beneficial to your brain cells.

Maybe I ought to reword my answer and say it louder.

"SIR IT HAS A DISTINCTIVE MOTHER-OF-PEARL SHEEN AND IT LETS OUT PRETTY COLOURS IN THE FORM OF TWIRLY THINGS SIR" I bellowed, feeling quite proud of myself for having guessed the question correctly.

Snickers rose from my classmates (gits, the lot of them), but I didn't care; I, Alena Lancaster, had successfully gotten away with not paying attention!

Wait. I was suddenly aware of the fact that everyone else had gathered at the front of the room, surrounding the large cauldron. A large cauldron that was, in fact, emitting "twirly things."

My heart sunk as my eyes went back to Slughorn's face.

"I asked you to join the rest of your classmates at the front of the room, Miss Lancaster," he said, his bristly white mustache shaking angrily. Bugger. Slughorn generally didn't get very angry, but he absolutely _hated_ when students didn't pay attention in his class (something about his classes being infinitely times better than Binn's).

"Detention," he said curtly before motioning for me to join the rest of the class.

I scowled, meeting the eyes of the stupid Gryffindor Keeper. She could have let me know that they were all going up there! Holding her gaze, I dropped her quill into a bubbling cauldron of Felix Felicis as I passed it. Her mouth dropped and she tightened her fists, glowering at me. I smirked; well, Ravenclaw would just have to beat them next match. No, not just beat. CRUSH THE DAMN GITS. SERVES THEM RIGHT FOR NOT READILY LENDING QUILLS AND LEAVING INNOCENT AWESOMELY AMAZING GIRLS TO GET YELLED AT BY POMPOUS POTIONS MASTERS.

Ahem. Moving on.

I felt bad for whoever was intended to drink the Felix Felicis; I'm sure that whatever disgusting germs were present on the quill would have negated Felix's effects immediately.

I joined the rest of the class, peering at the potion in question.

"I want all of you to go up and smell it," Slughorn said gleefully, clapping his hands together. He probably wanted to surprise everyone when they smelled what they loved most; I doubted anyone (other than a few of the devoted Ravenclaws) had read ahead in the textbook to read Amortentia's properties and would thus be stunned.

We all lined up in what more or less resembled a line, each one of us fidgeting impatiently or chatting quietly as we waited our turn.

Angry Keeper Girl went up three people before me, and she proudly announced that the potion smelled like "Fresh broomsticks and worn Quaffles" before high-fiving her Quidditch mates. Mindless idiot.

I huffed impatiently as I waited for the person in front of me to go (the boy looked like he was going to fall in the cauldron, he was leaning so bloody close!) and began to count the people in the classroom (26, in case you were wondering).

Slughorn seemed to notice the boy's danger and ran over (or at least tried to; he got stuck midway in between two desks but eventually managed to squeeze through), pulling the boy back before he fell in. The boy flushed, muttering something about "freshly pressed clothes" before scurrying behind a throng of students.

Finally.

I approached the cauldron tentatively, curiousity sparking in my mind. I wondered what I was going to smell…

I leaned forward slightly, making sure to brace my arms against the sides of the cauldron (which is what the boy in front of me would have done, if he'd had a brain like Numberita. OH STOP YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS) and closing my eyes.

Oh…

A quiet smile settled on my face as I inhaled deeply, trying to get as much of that wondrous scent inside. Mm…

There was the smell of aged books, freshly fallen snow, pumpkin juice (alright, so maybe I _did_ still like it. Potter would just have to deal), and the scent of fresh quills, all intertwined together in an utterly hypnotic concoction.

"Hurry up!"

The coarse voice broke me out of my reverie and I shot a glare at the speaker (a rather large Gryffindor) before taking a seat at the front of the classroom.

It was odd, really. Some of those scents smelled awfully familiar…where had I smelled them before? My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to remember, but Numberita was still all muddled from the heavenly scents from before.

Huh. I'd have to think about this later.

I glanced back up, spotting Rose Weasley's determined face as she walked up to the cauldron. A small smile drifted across her face and she began to resemble the Scamander twins (the barmy offspring of Luna Lovegood).

"What do you smell, Miss Weasley?" asked Slughorn in a rather gentle tone (he'd always favored the Wotters; they were, after all, related to the OMG-IT'S-HARRY-POTTER-THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED).

"I…I smell parchment, freshly baked cookies, and…and…leath-" Rose squeaked, looking positively horrified, as she practically ran away from the cauldron and to her seat. She began hurriedly stuffing her books into her bag, ignoring Slughorn's surprised shouts, and ran out of the classroom, her face panicked.

What in the bloody he-hearth boxes (Mum should be proud; I really am making an effort to stop cursing)?

Silence lasted for exactly 5.2 seconds before the whispers started.

Slughorn looked uncomfortable; even after who knows how many years of teaching, he still had no idea what to do with a distraught teenage girl.

Oh no. HE WAS LOOKING AT ME. WHY WAS HE LOOKING AT ME. QUICK ADELA. LOOK AWAY. PRETEND TO BE BUSY. I stuffed my face in my bag, breathing in the scent of Sir Archibald's hairballs (yeah, my bag's his preferred place to "grace" with his hairballs).

"Miss Lancaster."

Bugger.

I slowly drew my head out of the bag.

"Please go make sure Miss Weasley is alright."

I stared at him, my eyes widening; what? WHY DID HE NOT ASK HER BLOODY COUSIN. I glanced sharply at Fred, who grinned and shrugged (the git was probably happy to not have to deal with an emotional girl) as if to say "tough luck." I'd show _him_ tough luck – I began reaching in my bag for ol' Bessie but stopped when I realized Slughorn was still looking at me expectantly.

Double bugger.

"Fine," I muttered, shoving my books unceremoniously into my bag and stalking outside.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

**AN: I hope you liked it! As always, please take that extra second or two and review! **


	8. Marauder's Map (Adventures with Jamesie)

**The Marauder's Map (Finally! A map that has Hogwart's dimensions correct!)**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone who's been reading! Almost 800 hits, gah you guys are amazing! **

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me (unfortunately). The Marauder's map belongs (also unfortunately) to JK Rowling. **

Ugh. I'd been running around these bloody hallways for the past _eleven minutes_, my (full) bag bouncing quite painfully against my side and my hair back to its usual status as a matted clump.

And why, you ask? BECAUSE OF ROSE BLOODY WEASLEY.

Where the fuck _was_ she? What, Weasleys suddenly had the power to disappear in thin air? I checked my watch for the thirteenth time; Potions class wouldn't be ending for another 32 minutes and I had a free fifteen-minute block after that, so at least I didn't run the risk of being late to Herbology. But still. I COULD BE LEARNING POTIONS RIGHT N-actually, I _hate_ Potions.

Hmph. I'm feeling very conflicted right now. To hate, or to not to hate.

Eh. Disliking Rose is more fun. That way I have an excuse to tackle/whack her with ol' Bessie if I ever need to. Although I whack Scorpius and Seth a lot…and I don't actually hate them.

Let's just face it – if you know me (and I've bothered learning your names), chances are that you've met the painful side of ol' Bessie. It was just life.

AND WHERE WERE MY QUILLS? I stuck my head inside my bag, shuffling along awkwardly so that I could keep moving. Maybe it was stuck at the very bottom…? I tried breathing through my mouth (Sir Archibald's hairballs really do stink) as I peered through the inky blackness. Come on…AT LEAST LET ME FIND ONE DANG QUILL.

"Erm…Lancaster?"

Bugger.

I quickly shoved my face out of my bag, my cheeks (those traitors!) burning furiously. Oh. James Potter.

"Er…hello," I said awkwardly, lifting my hand in a semi-wave.

Silence. UGH WHY THE SILENCE. Without even realizing it, my mouth opened, and I promptly began babbling nonsense, "Stupid Slughorn sent me to look for your cousin. OH HAHHAHAHAHHA I suppose I should tell you which one, seeing as you have HORDES. Doesn't your family know to use protection? ANYWAY I'M LOOKING FOR ROSE DO YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS?"

Yeah, I bellowed those last few lines. And yeah, I promptly wanted to go beat _myself_ with ol' Bessie after that…atrocity came out of my mouth. WHY DO I KEEP FORGETING TO BUY THAT BRAIN-TO-MOUTH FILTER?

OH MY LORD I SHOULD NOT BE LET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

To my surprise, James began laughing, his blue eyes crinkling merrily. I gaped (in a very attractive manner, I'm sure) in disbelief; Potter, Seth, or Scorpius would have ran away by now…and not until they teased/hexed me first.

Huh. Maybe Gryffindors had their benefits.

"So, do you know where Rose is?"

He stopped laughing, suddenly becoming quite solemn. I fidgeted, uncomfortable by the sudden change. He surveyed me seriously before seeming to come to a conclusion, nodding to himself. Right, well _I've_ come to the conclusion that all members of the Potter family are insane.

"I like you," he announced. I stared; um…okay?

"So, I'll help you find Rose," he continued. I grinned, about to thank him, before he added, "But only if you promise not to tell _anyone_ about what I am about to show you."

OH MY LORD I KNEW HE WAS A MURDERER. I DID NOT WANT TO SEE WHATEVER BLOODY CORPSE HE WAS GOING TO SHOW ME.

I held my breath as he reached into the pocket of his robes, certain that he was going to pull out a dismembered heart or something.

"James, I don't want t-" I began, stopping when I saw him pull out a weathered-looking piece of parchment.

Oh. _Oh_. Well, this was a bit awkward. OH SHUT IT I KNOW YOU'RE LAUGHING.

"James. That's a parchment," I said after a moment of expectant watching. Well, that was anticlimactic.

He chuckled before reaching over to flick me (WHAT IS WITH BOYS AND FLICKING ME? I AM GOING TO LOSE SOME BRAIN CELLS AT THIS RATE). I scowled, crossing my arms over my chest.

Noticing my annoyance, he hurriedly brought out his wand from the back pocket of his trousers and tapped the parchment, muttering, "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

Merlin. Dark inkblots appeared on the parchment, some blotting into large splotches while others curled into delicate calligraphy.

"The Marauders' Map," I read aloud, my voice slightly breathless. I glanced up at James, who was watching me with an amused look on his face.

"James…"

"Just watch," he said, a tad smugly. He opened the map with a delicate flick of his wrist, revealing…Merlin.

Each room of Hogwarts was inked in with amazingly accurate proportions (FINALLY! A MAP GETS THE RAVENCLAW TOWER DIMENSIONS RIGHT! Even the map in _Hogwarts: A History_ says it's 78 feet in diameter, but it's really _84_ feet in diameter!)

I excitedly informed James of this exciting detail, but he merely laughed and said, "Of course you would notice that and not the people."

I chose to ignore that comment, instead choosing to lean in and examine the map some more. In the very location where we were standing, two pairs of feet were labeled "ADELA LANCASTER" and "JAMES POTTER."

Wait. Were those…

"The map's gone and bloody given me _man _feet!" I exclaimed, my voice clouding over with horror. James stared at me a bit before looking down at the map.

"Merlin, you're _insane_," he said wonderingly, shaking his head a bit. I sniffed, choosing to take that as a compliment. He's just lucky that I didn't take ol' Bessie out of my bag.

"Right, so how is this going to…oh! We can just find Rose's name on this map!" I said excitedly, clasping my hands together.

James nodded, his eyes already scanning the parchment.

Hey…if the map could locate _people_, then could it…?

"Hey, James?"

"Mm?" he answered, not looking up.

"Can this map locate objects, like, oh, I don't know…quills?"

He looked up at this, his eyebrows rising a bit.

"I don't think so…why?"

I coloured; no need for James to think I was odder than he already thought I was.

"Oh, no reason…" I muttered, shoving a stray lock of hair from my face. James closed the parchment – "Hey!" – and crossed his arms, looking at me silently.

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze before gesturing wildly at my watch.

"JAMES I ONLY HAVE THIRTY TWO MINUTES AND TWENTY-TWO SECONDS UNTIL HERBOLOGY SO WE SHOULD PROBABLY HURRY UP NOW, YEAH?"

"Merlin, you yell a lot."

I shrugged, not bothering to contest his statement; what? It was true. I am the proud owner of a healthy set of lungs. Hm. Maybe I should name them as well…I'd have to think on this one.

He opened the map again and we scanned it in comfortable silence for around 73 seconds.

"There she is!" he shouted, jabbing his finger in the general direction of an abandoned classroom in the east wing.

"Right, I'll be going then," I said. "Tha-"

James, who had lifted up his left hand, interrupted me.

"Adela, I'm coming with you," he said firmly. I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again when I found that I didn't really have any reason for him not to come.

I nodded curtly, and he grinned before muttering, "_Mischief managed"_ and prodding the map again.

He shoved the map in the pocket of his robes again before twirling his wand and slipping it smoothly into his sleeve. I rolled my eyes; git.

"You just wish you had my skills," he said, his voice light with suppressed laughter. I shook my head but couldn't resist a small smile.

Well, I had to give it to him; James sure knew how to make people smile.

After 7.2 seconds of comfortable walking, Adela's mouth decided to strike again.

You know when I start referring to my body parts in third person that things are about to go sour.

"So, why are you so angry with Potter about Emily?"

Merlin. My mouth has no social skills. Zero. Zip. Nada.

OH SHUT IT YES I AM AWARE THAT MY MOUTH IS A PART OF ME.

He stiffened, stopping abruptly. I kept walking for 0.5 seconds before realizing he'd stopped. I paused awkwardly, unsure whether or not to shuffle backwards so that I was level with him or to keep going like nothing had happened.

GAH DILEMMAS.

…

AND WHERE IN THE BLOODY HELL WERE MY QUILLS?

I eventually decided to backtrack slowly, making it seem like I'd spotted something interesting on the wall near James.

"Did _he_ ask you to say that?" came a bitter voice, the word "he" practically spitting out of his mouth; Merlin, it was like he couldn't stand to have any mention of Potter lying on his tongue longer than necessary.

I turned to face him, my cheeks flushing. Nope…only my stupidity had caused me to ruin the perfectly friendly moment.

"Erm…no," I ventured, eying him warily; what? The bloke looked positively _furious_. His normally light blue eyes had darkened (must be a Potter trait. I don't know of anyone else's eyes that can darken with anger…) and his mouth was set in a firm scowl.

I blinked; Merlin, he looked almost like Potter! Although he lacked the almond-shaped eyes; James's eyes were a bit bigger and…

AHEM. ANYWAY.

James sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair – ARGH. I SWEAR I WILL PERSONALLY HEX OFF THEIR HAIR IF THEY DO THAT ONE MORE TIME – and began to walk again. I struggled to catch up with him – what? His legs were long – and panted a bit from the exercise.

Yup, Wood was going to be bloody _thrilled_ when he saw me at practice today. I was _definitely_ looking forward to that moment.

"Em…Emily and I met during the first few days of summer," he said, his voice struggling to say Emily's name. I glanced sharply at him, my eyes softening a bit; he'd obviously cared a lot for her – why, I had no idea. Any girl that would cheat on a bloke with his bloody _brother_ was just plain cruel. And this is the offspring of many a generation of Slytherins saying that.

When a pureblood relation of dozens of Slytherins says that she thinks you're vindictive…well, that's when you know you have a problem.

I stayed quiet (what? STOP SCOFFING. And yes, I _can_ keep quiet for more than 72 seconds – I should know. I've timed myself.), wanting to hear the rest of James's story.

"Yeah, I know she's in my year and in Gryffindor as well and all that…but I'd never actually gotten to really _meet_ her. So when she came up to me one day while I was in Hogsmeade visiting Uncle George's shop…well, I was surprised. We got to talking, and I found that we shared loads of the same interests; she adored Quidditch, she loved shepherd's pie, and she was afraid of rats as well!"

Hm. James=scared of rats. Better file that away…you know…for research purposes, of course. Not like it was potential blackmail material or anything. Nope. OH STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. ARGH I WILL HIT YOU WITH OL' BESSIE. IN THE FACE. IN THE NOSE. IN THE NOSTRIL. MOLECULE BY MOLECULE. ATOM BY ATOM.

…Right, I don't know where that came from.

…I'm not sorry. Hehehe.

Fortunately, James didn't notice my inner conversation and kept speaking, "Things progressed quickly from there. I kissed her one night and I was the happiest I'd been in a while. Al and I had reached an uneasy truce, I had a girlfriend that I really liked, and some Puddlemere United scouts had shown interest in my flying."

Puddlemere? That was a pretty good team; they'd won the Cup last year!

Bugger. GRYFFINDOR COULD NOT WIN THE HOUSE CUP. I FORBADE IT.

"Of course, that didn't last long," he laughed hollowly, his eyes shadowed. By this time we'd reached the stairs leading upwards (why were the classrooms never _down_ stairs? I _hated _climbing stairs).

I paused on the 12th stair to turn to James (alright, maybe it was to catch my breath as well. What? Hogwarts stairs are _steep_), my hands pressed firmly at my sides.

"I don't agree with Potter did, but he was drunk. She was drunk, and a right bit-_bittergreen_ by the looks of it. You deserve better," I said honestly, catching myself just in time; what? Christmas was coming up (okay, it wasn't for another two months…but hey, you could never be too careful! Last year mother bloody _paid_ some first year to count up all the times I'd swore/kicked someone/threatened to beat them up with ol' Bessie. All I'd gotten for Christmas was a stinking piece of _coal_).

He laughed; what? I swear that boy has more mood swings than a pregnant dragon (HA. TAKE THAT SETH).

"_Bittergreen_?" he asked disbelievingly, beginning to ascend the marble steps once more. I groaned inwardly before starting to climb as well, my hand surreptitiously grabbing the smooth bronze railing for support.

"Sod off," I muttered, scowling.

His eyes lightened again before saying, "And what's this stuff about quills?"

"None of your business," I muttered before hopping up the last step.

He chuckled under his breath before moving to open the classroom door.

"Wait!"

He paused, opening his mouth.

"What?" he asked curiously, slowly removing his hand from the doorknob.

I motioned for him to lean closer to the door, pointing through the translucent glass window.

Rose Weasley – the seemingly untouchable "genius" (please. I bet _she's_ not friends with the numbers. Although I had to admit, number 313 could be downright catty at times…ANYHOO MOVING ON.) – was curled up in the middle of the abandoned classroom, sobbing with only the company of cobwebs and dusty chairs to keep her company.

"Oh."

Yeah. _Oh_.

Well, I was absolutely rubbish with crying girls. What? It's true. The last time I'd tried comforting a crying girl (some obscure cousin on my mum's side that I was forced to babysit) ended up hexing me (_where_ she learned that hex from – she was only six! – I have yet to find out.

Needless to say, I'm not good with emotions.

James shuffled uncomfortable, glancing through the frosted window before looking quickly away.

"Right, I'm not good with this sort of stuff," he began.

What? NO WAY WAS THIS BLOKE GOING TO ABANDON ME.

I told him that. But with a few more expletives scattered throughout; what? I'm a classy lady.

…Oh, shut up.

"You're a girl! You should be good with this emotional stuff!" he said, a tad desperately. He ruffled his hair again before glancing down the hallway again. The git was looking for an escape route!

My fingers twitched as I thought of ol' Bessie…soon, Adela. Soon.

"RIGHT I'VE GOT TO GO…WATER MY CAT NOW BYE!" he shouted before sprinting off.

My mouth dropped; wow. There goes my theory that only Slytherin blokes are idiots…and my last hope of ever finding a decent bloke.

Right. Slytherin blokes were sexist pigs. Gryffindors were cowards (ironic, right?) that abandoned you at the first sight of tears. Ravenclaws were conniving pricks that threw questionable undergarments at your head in front of the whole Common Room.

GAH NO ONLY THE HUFFLEPUFFS ARE LEFT.

Now that James was gone, I could make out the muffled sobs coming from the classroom.

Despite myself, I felt a small twinge of sympathy; I'd spent many a day crying after Father had sent the first (of many) letters calling me a failure, a disgrace, a bloody _traitor_ to the Lancaster name after my sorting.

Of course, I hadn't had any friends to comfort me. Seth was off with his new eleven-year-old buddies and I pushed away any would-be friends.

Right, enough self-pitying. Rose needed me.

Feeling grim (and touching ol' Bessie for reassurance), I gripped the doorknob firmly and twisted it open, waltzing inside…and slipping on a cobweb.

Bugger. There goes my "oh, look, I'm so girly and used to comforting sobbing girls in abandoned classrooms!" persona.

I quickly got up, my cheeks flushing as I hurried to stuff my belongings back into my bag.

"What are you doing here?" came a voice, except it was so thick/clogged with tears that it came out sounding like, "Wha' awre yoo doi-sniff- heree?"

"Rose. Why are you crying?" I asked bluntly, ignoring her question.

At my words, she began bawling again and flung herself into my arms.

Um. HELP WHAT DO I DO NOW. HELP. ROSE WEASLEY IS TRYING TO KILL ME. HER TEARS WERE JUST A DECOY. GAH SHE IS TRYING TO POISON ME WITH ACID TEARS. GAH. GAH. GAH.

"I…I…the _amortentia_!" she wailed, finally pulling herself away from my (now ruined) robes. A trail of glistening snot connected her nose to the right shoulder of my robes.

Ew.

I discreetly grabbed her sleeve and whacked her arm through the trail of snot, disconnecting it. She sniffed before swiping at her face haphazardly.

"Sorry," she said tearfully.

Oh, Merlin. I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THESE KINDS OF SITUATIONS. Seriously. This is the girl whose first instinct is to tackle people + bring out ol' Bessie. I'm not really the best person to be comforting a crying girl.

"Right, what about the amortentia?" I asked slowly, surreptitiously inching myself away from her (germ-filled) grasp.

Great. That question had set of the Rose Weasley Waterworks.

I sighed, plopping myself on the ground.

After an excruciatingly long 3.2 minutes, Rose finally collected herself enough to sit down beside me.

"It's not the potion itself, it's the _smell_," she said, her voice still clouded with suppressed sobs.

My eyes winded, Numbertina working furiously; Rose _fancied_ someone!

"Who did you smell?" I asked curiously.

"M-_Malfoy_!" she wailed, flinging herself at me again.

GAH SOMEONE GET THIS GIRL OFF OF ME OR SO HELP ME I WIL-

Wait. _Malfoy?_

"_Malfoy?_" I repeated, voicing my thoughts.

She nodded, a quick, abrupt movement that looked like it hurt.

"You _fancy_ him?"

She shot a sharp glance at me; yup, there was the Rose Weasley I knew.

"Obviously," she said, a tad snarkily. Well. Try to help a girl and what do you get? SASS I TELL YOU. GOOD OLD ROTTEN _SASS_.

"What will dad think?" she moaned, clutching at her brightly coloured hair.

Numbertina whirled excitedly; Scorpius liked Rose! Rose liked Scorpius! YAY I AM A BLOODY GENIUS FOR PREDICTING THIS.

Wait. Holy Buckbeak…the in-laws would be quite interesting for that relationship. I chuckled a bit at the idea of Draco Malfoy having to cooperate with Ron Weasley.

Rose looked appalled at my laughter.

"It's not _funny_!" she said, hitting my arm with a tad more force than necessary.

Ouch. That girl could be a bloody Beate-WAIT NO THAT'S MY SPOT. BACK OFF.

"Well, you know – Scorpius fancies you too."

Rose blinked, her mouth dropping open.

"What?" she murmured quietly, her eyes opening in wonder.

I nodded, opening my mouth to explain my highly thought out and clever theory-

The door banged open, revealing a very disheveled figure…or rather, _two_ very disheveled figures.

Disheveled, _moaning_ figures.

I think you get the gist.

And, oh look there! One of those figures had abnormally pale skin. You might even say _vampire-_pale skin. With white-blonde hair. Admittedly broad shoulders.

OH COME ON EVEN A NON-RAVENCLAW COULD GUESS WHO IT WAS.

I glanced sharply at Rose. Fresh tears were brimming in her eyes and she made a quiet _eep_ as she stared at the sight before her.

Stupid Scorpius had chosen _this_ classroom (out of the 381 classrooms that Hogwarts had!) to bring his latest whore for a snog session.

Just bloody fantastic.

**AN: Thanks again for reading! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW ;D **


	9. Bloody Animals - What a Lovely Tapestry!

**Unicorns and Eagles: What a Lovely Tapestry!**

** Author Note: Ahem. Adela says to review or she'll bring ol' Bessie out c; Btw – YOU GUYS ARE FREAKING AWESOME. Thanks for the 1000+ reads! **

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me **

"Ahem," I coughed quietly, hoping to attract Scorpius's attention.

MERLIN WAS HIS HAND UNDER HER SHIRT?

GAH MY EYES. I AM TOO INNOCENT FOR THIS.

Oh, stop laughing.

"AHEM." Great. Now I sound like Umbridge.

.Snog. ARGH.

"SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY!" I bellowed. Honestly, the boy is practically deaf.

Scorpius jumped a bit, his hand quickly slipping from underneath the blond bi-bitterweed's (rather short) white shirt as his eyes flicked to me quickly before moving on to Rose. His silver eyes widened considerably as he took in Rose's tear-stained cheeks. I shot a quick glance at Rose; her cheeks matched her crimson hair and her brown eyes were narrowed into dangerously thin slits.

Wow, I did _not_ want to be Scorpius at this moment. Well, I never want to be him. But more so than ever right now.

Looks like someone inherited her mother's temper (seriously. Hermione Granger-Weasley was a highly-respected wizarding lawyer infamous for her ability to make grown men cry during trial).

"Ro-Weasley?" Scorpius asked disbelievingly, catching himself before he said her first name.

I glanced back over at Rose; she was positively quivering with rage and had somehow whipped out her mahogany wand in the time (3.2 seconds) since I had last looked at her. Although her body was shaking a bit, her mouth was set and her hand never strayed a centimeter.

Merlin, Scorpius was in trouble.

"You," she began in a chillingly calm voice. "Are a prat."

Scorpius opened his mouth, probably to make up some excuse.

Wait. Why would he even need an excuse? Not like he knew Rose fancied him…or…had something happened? Numberita jumped around gleefully at the prospect; hehehe. I AM SO SMART IT'S SCARY.

"_AVIS OPPUGNO!"_

And with that, her wrist flicked to the left before twirling a bit, her wand emitting angry red sparks. The sparks seemed to explode midair, transforming into a flock of bright yellow canaries. The canaries gathered in a tight circle before zooming at Scorpius, their tiny orange beaks shining menacingly.

I felt a brief breeze as Rose brushed past me, her violently red curls flouncing primly as she shoved past the blond bitterweed (who was looking quite uncomfortable as she watched the boy she'd been snogging be attacked by magical birds) and strode out the door without a backward glance.

The blonde girl picked herself up from the ground, frowning as she brushed off the cobwebs (which reminds me – really, Scorpius? A classroom filled with cobwebs _really_ just yells out "romantic snogging area" – really classy, there) from her robes.

She shot a lingering glance at Scorpius (who was by then trying to swipe at the birds but utterly failing) before flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaving.

"See you later, Scorpy," she called out in an annoyingly high voice.

_Scorpy_? Merlin. She'd ruined an already horrible name with an atrocious nickname that somehow managed to be _worse_ than that…"name" Draco Malfoy had burdened his sole son with (sorry, Scorpius. You know it's true).

I sat back down, watching with detached interest as Scorpius began banging his head against the wall (what he hoped to accomplish with that, Merlin only knew).

After 73 seconds of watching his pitiful display, I rolled my eyes and took out my wand, muttering a quick counter spell. Honestly, the Slytherins these days. Didn't they even bother reading the charms textbook anymore? That spell was in last night's homework for Merlin's sake!

The flock of birds had gathered about 2.1 feet above Scorpius and was in the process of dive-bombing him when the silver sparks emitted from my wand caught up to them, causing them to vanish with a quiet puff of translucent smoke.

"Took you long enough," Scorpius rasped hoarsely after 5.7 seconds of pitiful hiding (he'd flung his head under his robes, looking eerily like a misshapen bat). His white-blonde hair was mussed and several cuts dotted his face.

I narrowed my eyes, thinking longingly of ol' Bessie. Ungrateful prat. Noticing my anger, Scorpius hurriedly added, "But thank you, O Brilliant One!"

Feeling placated, I nodded curtly before striding forward and giving Scorpius a swift kick to the knee. He bellowed, dropping to the ground dramatically and clutching at his leg. Honestly. He's just lucky I didn't aim higher.

"You are an idiot," I said, watching as he rolled around the floor. His expression immediately sobered and he hopped to his feet lightly (ha! I _knew_ he wasn't really injured!).

"I know," he said quietly, sighing heavily and gazing out the window.

I blinked; whoa. Scorpius _really_ fancied her; this was the first time I've _ever_ heard him admit that he was wrong.

"If you fancy her so much, why don't you just ask her out?" I asked.

He froze, his eyes widening until they resembled silver pools.

"I can't do that!" he yelled, his voice cracking (cough blackmail material cough).

"And why not?"

"Because…because…what if she doesn't fancy me back?"

Didn't Hogwarts have _some_ sort of IQ test before letting idiots like these into the school? I could feel _my_ intelligence draining away just being near the bloke! Honestly.

"She does, you idiot. Why do you think she hexed you when she saw you snogging that bitterweed?"

"Because she _hates _m-wait. Bitterweed?"  
"Mum. Christmas. Coal. Bad."

"Oh."

See, this is why I tolerate Scorpius. I've known him so long that I don't even need to say full sentences around him; he'll just understand the gist because he's been around so long. Like an irritating vampire-pest that you just can't get rid of (trust me; I've tried everything from ol' Bessie to baby mandrakes).

"And she doesn't hate you; she was in here _sobbing_ over you for Merlin's sake!" I shouted, feeling more than a little exasperated.

"She was _sobbing_ over me?" Scorpius asked, sounding a bit too happy for my liking. Bugger; I'd just inflated his already-large ego.

Merlin help me. The prat would probably be flouncing around for the next week or so referring to himself as "His Royal Malfoy" or something like that (he did that in third year; he brought in two of his groupies to bow down to him and open doors for him because Scorpius is chivalrous like that. And yes. Minds were scarred and eyes were gouged out).

"Prat."

"Sod off."

"Git."

"Sod off."

"You said that already."

"So?"  
"YOU FANCY ROSE WEASLEY. YOU FANCY ROSE WEASLEY. YOU FANCY ROSE WEASLEY."

"SHUT UP."

"SHOULD I GO OWL DRACO NOW, _SCORPY_? TELL YOUR DEAR FATHER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE RON WEASLEY'S DAUGHT-"

"SOD OFF. YOU WOULDN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND LOVE; NO ONE'S EVER LOVED YOU."

I blinked, inexplicable tears welling up in my eyes.

Scorpius paused, his cheeks paling considerably as he realized what he'd said.

"A-Adela…" he said softly, reaching forward as if to touch me.

_Snap_.

I paused, my chest heaving as I stared at my hand. It had moved of its own accord to slap Scorpius; his cheek was now a bright red and he brought up a trembling hand to cup it.

"Stay away from me, Malfoy," I spat out before bending down swiftly to scoop up my bag. I turned, the bag bumping against my side as I walked out of the classroom, each step echoing in the empty classroom.

As I rounded the corner, more tears blurred my vision until I finally gave up and slumped to the ground. Bringing my knees to my chin, I hugged my legs as I cried.

It wasn't like me to be so affected by Scorpius, but…

It was true. Mum only tolerated me because she needed a daughter to dress up. Father wouldn't even speak to me; he'd already made it perfectly clear that I wasn't going to get a cent of inheritance…all because I wasn't in the "family house." I'd never even been _kissed_ before. Merlin, no boy had ever even looked at me twice.

And I'd been fine with that – really. But…somehow, Scorpius's words had hit my only weak spot. And he knew it; the boy that had known me my entire life had crossed that line of no return.

AND I'D LOST MY QUILLS. I let out a loud wail before resuming my pathetic sobbing.

"_Lancaster_?"

Bugger. Of course someone would just _happen_ to walk this way (no one ever walked this way!) today of all days.

"What?" I snapped, lifting my head and glaring at the offender.

Potter's wide green eyes stared back as he took in my appearance. I was really _not_ in the mood for his ridicule; I swear to Merlin if he mentions my tears I will hex the oblivion out of him. HE WILL DIE A PAINFUL AND LONG DEATH.

I've heard Azkaban isn't that bad anyway.

"-okay?" came Potter's voice.

Huh? I blinked, asking, "What?"

His eyes flicked upwards like he was about to roll his eyes but had stopped himself.

"Are you okay?"

Um.

"What? No insult this time, Potter?" I asked, laughing with just a tad bit of hysteria mixed in. "Do I bloody _look_ okay?"

"Erm…no, not really."

Prat. Didn't he know that when a girl asks you that, you're supposed to lie and start showering her with chocolate of some sort? He had a baby _sister_, for Merlin's sake! He should know these th-

Right. Adela=sobbing. Potter=asking a question. Adela=should stop referring to herself in the third person.

"I'm fine," I said curtly, looking away. Right. This is the point where he'll get the message and leave me alone.

The refreshing scent of pine trees and fresh snow wafted towards me, instantly clearing up both my nose and Numberita.

"Right, I'm not leaving," Potter announced from a distance that was alarmingly small (around 5.9 inches if I gauged it correctly – HAHAHA WHO AM I KIDDING? OF COURSE I GAUGED IT CORRECTLY I'M A BLOODY RAVENCLAW FOR MERLIN'S SAKE).

I glanced over surreptitiously; gah! Potter had seated himself next to me and was now smugly observing me watch him.

I flushed, looking quickly away. Prat.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Why are you doing this?" I snapped. And I meant it; Potter _never_ showed even the slightest bit of interest in my feelings.

"You helped me through that love potion," he said simply. I looked sharply at him; the last time I'd spoken to him, he'd practically _spat_ at me about "not needing my pity." He gazed at the tapestry across the corridor quietly, his dark hair brushing the wallpaper behind him.

Silence.

Somehow, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence – you know, the type where you want to tear your hair out and shout random things so it won't be as awkwardly quiet (thus causing the other person to think you're mental. I'd received quite a few St. Mungo's brochures because of my inability to keep quiet in those situations).

"Scorpius said something," I said finally, looking steadfastly at the tapestry. Huh. Hogwarts really did need to update its artwork. A mutated unicorn was embroidered in a battle stance, an engorged eagle slashing at its back. I wonder what the founders were thinking when they decorated this place. Did they look at the (literally) bloody unicorn and think, hm, this looks like perfect viewing material for impressionable eleven year olds!

Honestly.

AND WHY HADN'T POTTER RESPONDED YET?

I shot another quick glance at him; his eyebrows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought (oh, careful there Potter – don't damage your little Slytherin brain trying to think so har-right. He was trying to help. Be nice, Adela! Merlin maybe I should have kept those brochures…).

"What did he say?"

I tensed, my hands gripping the soft material of my robes.

"Stuff about how no one loved me," I said suddenly before clapping my hand over my mouth; Merlin, I'm an idiot! Why had I told _Potter_ that, of all people? He was probably going to go spread it all over Hogwarts now.

"Lancaster, I-"

I really didn't want to hear his snide reply; he'd probably say something how only Sir Archibald liked me, and how that was more of a "liking the person who feeds you so you won't die" kind of affection. So I kept talking, spewing out my secrets to the person I least wanted to hear them.

"And I've lost my quills. Father gave me the first five before I was Sorted into Ravenclaw. I've collected quills since I was _eight_ and-"

"I know."

I paused; he did? Right. I'd forgotten that I'd known him since First Year...it was odd; I'd never really thought of him as someone who could understand my references nearly as well as Seth and Scorp-Malfoy did.

Silence. Again.

Wait! Herbology! I fumbled for my watch, my fingers trembling as I read the silver hands.

I was 22 minutes late.

"OHMYGOODNESS I'M LATE FOR HERBOLOGY! PROFESSOR LONGBOTTOM IS GOING TO KILL ME AND/OR FEED ME TO THE MANDRAKES!" I bellowed, furiously swiping away the last remnants of tears from my face. I scrambled to my feet, muttering a quick "thanks" in Potter's general direction.

xxxxx

Of course I had Herbology with Hufflepuffs.

DEAR WORLD: WHY DO YOU HATE ME?

After bursting into the greenhouse and breathing very heavily (thank goodness Wood was a year above me; he couldn't see just how out of shape I was…yet. I still had practice…I shudder to think of what he'll do), Professor Longbottom had sighed wearily before assigning me detention on Thursday. I'd set my books down on the only space available – a spot underneath the front window. A spot that sat me right next to a bloody Hufflepuff.

The Hufflepuff had smiled at me before moving her books (see? WHAT KIND OF PERSON MOVES HER BOOKS FOR SOME RANDOM GIRL SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW? IT'S NOT NATURAL I TELL YOU. NO ONE IS THAT NICE) to the side to create a sizeable area for my things.

"Thanks," I said shortly, shoving my bag unceremoniously onto the dark green surface.

She beamed, dimples (dimples!) appearing on her dark cheeks. Her intricately braided hair framed her oval-shaped face and her teeth shone blindingly white against her dark complexion.

Too cheerful, I tell you. It's unnatural.

"I'm Kate. What's your name?" whats-her-face asked. Oh, sod off. I _know_ she just told me her name; it's not my fault that Numberita has more important things to remember (like the fact that there were precisely 22 braids in her hair and Professor Longbottom had rubbed at that spot on his chin 8 times in the past 6 minutes).

"Adela," I said shortly, fidgeting with the brightly coloured plant set on each desk.

"Erm, Adela, I don't think you should be…"

The plant hissed and spat a neon-purple liquid (of remarkably high viscosity) at my arm. The liquid steamed slightly as my skin began turning an angry red colour. I stared down at my arm, the terrified shrieks of my classmates blurring out. Huh. It had affected around 13 square centimeters of my forearm…wait. Acid + skin = HOLY SHITAKE MUSHROOMS THAT'S PAINFUL.

OH BLOODY HELL.

Sorry, mum.

"HOLY - - -!"

**AN: This chapter just did **_**not**_** want to be written -.- Anyway, as always – reviewing leads to ****more updates! ;D**


	10. In Which Adela Falls Down A Lot

**In Which Adela Falls Down. A Lot.**

** Author Note: Have I mentioned how much I love you guys yet? YES? WELL I'LL SAY IT AGAIN. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! Thanks for all the reviews/views/etc! They really do make my day so much brighter **

Hm. Madame Pomfrey must be in her...what, late sixties? Seventies? It was a bit hard to tell with her…I studied her curiously from my confinement (YES, CONFINEMENT. NO I AM NOT BEING DRAMATIC. THEY BLOODY _TIED _ME TO THIS SCRATCHY COT) on the hospital wing bed.

I'd already counted her wrinkles (exactly 18 fine wrinkles lining her face) and the depth of the bags under her eyes (0.3 cm). I'd also measured the length of the bed (6.3 feet), the number of cheerfully smiling cherubs on the thin blanket (56 – oh, and I will _never_ moan about the quality of my bed sheets again. These hospital sheets are absolutely _horrid_), and the number of times Seth had popped in to laugh at my pathetically immobilized body (7. I'd tried hexing him on the last time, but my arm was unfortunately bound to my side.) I didn't understand the need for magically bound _ropes_ – okay, they were soft cloths but _still_ – tying me against my will! Pomfrey muttered something about "dangerous tendencies" and "liable to jump out the window in a moment of excitement" or something to that matter. Whatever.

OH MY GOODNESS SIR ARCHIBALD. I hadn't fed him yet today and when he was hungry he got quite feisty. Wait. I wouldn't be around to face his wrath. Hehehe.

Rose would probably figure it out and pour some of his special food (he requires it to be imported all the way from Zonko's. Yeah, I don't understand why he only eats food from a magical _joke_ shop, but he's always been odd. And violent. HEY WHY ARE YOU SAYING LIKE OWNER LIKE CAT? SOD OFF).

_Bang_.

Wood barged into the room, his light brown hair windswept and his eyes glinting in a maniacal manner that just screamed "PUT ME IN A MENTAL WARD BEFORE I MURDER POOR BEAUTIFUL ADELA LANCASTER."

Merlin.

He was still clutching his broom (a rather nice – okay, IT WAS AMAZING AND I HAD DROOLED OVER IT REPEATEDLY – Dragonclaw 100, a model that had only come out last year but already rivaled the Firebolt in success and popularity) and his Quidditch robes were streaked with mud; I glanced out the window quickly to spot rain lashing at the windows. Huh. Wonder when it started raining…

"ADELA NICOLE LANCASTER!"

Huh. Wonder when he'd learned my middle name…

He leaned close, bringing the scent of wet grass and worn Quaffles.

"FIRST YOU MISS THE _VERY IMPORTANT_ TRAIN STRATEGY MEETING AND NOW _THIS_? NICO TELLS ME YOU'VE PRACTICALLY BURNED YOUR ARM OFF! WHY DOES MY BEATER DO THIS TO ME?" He wailed the last sentence and flung his face my blanket, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed despairingly.

Well. Who doesn't love a muddy bloke soiling up their already-scratchy blankets? I DON'T THAT'S WHO.

Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey had confiscated ol' Bessie once I tried whacking Seth with it the second time he visited. That was also the time she conjured up the magical bindings.

Stupid Nico. Nico was a Fifth Year and my fellow Beater (seriously! Weren't beaters supposed to watch each other's backs or something? WASN'T THERE A BLOODY BEATER-CODE?). Note to self: make sure to "accidentally" hit a Bludger at him during the next practice.

"Relax, Wood," I ventured after 73 seconds of staring at his (still sobbing!) form. His head popped up, his face remarkably dry for someone who had been supposedly crying for the past two minutes.

"Pomfrey says I'll be out by tomorrow. She just needs to make sure my arm doesn't develop any infection."

"INFECTION? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS FOR THE _CUP_?"

He lunged forward again, his jaw snapping closed with an almost-painful sounding _clunk_. Oh, who cares if your Beater has a potentially-life-threatening infection? No, what _obviously_ matters is a Quidditch cup. Not her arm or anything.

Not that it was actually life-threatening (Pomfrey had assured me of that after I'd gone about demanding for a lawyer to help me write a will. What? You can never be too prepared!)

Speaking of Pomfrey…WHERE IN THE BLOODY HELL WAS SHE? WASN'T SHE SUPPOSED TO, OH, I DON'T KNOW – PROTECT HER INJURED PATIENTS FROM CRAZED LUNATICS NAMED GIDEON WOOD?

I wriggled around a bit, straining to break free of the ropes.

Oh. Wait. I have a mouth. WOW WAY TO PICK THIS TIME OF ALL TIMES TO STAY QUIET.

"POMFREYYYYYY!" I bellowed. Gideon leaped back in a speed that was almost comical.

Pomfrey's signature white peaked hat bustled inwards and she took one look at the mud on my sheets to the mud-encased, sheepishly-grinning Gideon and shook her head.

"Out!" she ordered, pointing one pale, bony finger in the direction of the door.

Gideon shot me a pointed look that plainly said, "I'm not done with you" before shifting his grip on his broom and striding away, leaving muddy footprints on the white floor behind him.

As soon as I was certain that Gideon's dark blue and bronze Quidditch robes weren't about to pop back inside, I relaxed and turned my attentions to Pomfrey, who was unwrapping the bindings on my arm.

"It doesn't even hurt!" I whined, watching as she took out a dark glass vial and unstoppered it.

She ignored me, instead turning the vial so that the translucent purple liquid inside dripped onto the inflamed skin on my arm. The first drops touched my skin, dark steam rising upwards in intricate curls.

GAH PAIN GAH.

"HOLY HIPPOGRIFF. MERLIN ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

She gave me a pointed look; I shut my mouth quickly, turning my head away so that I could grimace in peace.

"That wouldn't have hurt if there wasn't already bacteria in it," she said with just a tad of smugness running underneath.

I scowled in the general direction of her hat.

Okay, so maybe I'd dumped some random dirt that was on the floor onto my arm at the first sign of pain. What? I'd read that dirt could help soothe pain!

Besides, it was understandable; Numberita was in _pain_! Even Ravenclaws can make mistakes. Shocking, I know.

Oh shut it I can see that snide look.

"So, when can I leave?"

Yeah, I'd lied to Gideon; I had absolutely _no_ idea when I could get out. But I couldn't run the risk of Gideon replacing me! Being a Beater made up a _huge_ part of my life; when else can you hit people and not be punished for it?

I needed _some_ way to let out my anger other than tackling random blokes!

"Later today," she said, wrapping my arm with new off-white bandages.

YAY! THAT WAS EVEN SOONER THAN I THOU-

"_If_ you don't move," she continued, pinning me with a stern look.

Right. I could do that.

Psh, I could do anything.

xxxx

GAH GAH GAH I AM GOING INSANE GAH. IT'S BEEN 32 MINUTES 42 SECONDS AND I HAVEN'T MOVED EVEN A CENTIMETER. I AM GOING BLOODY INSANE. WHERE ARE MY QUILLS? WHERE IS OL' BESSIE? WHERE IS SIR ARCHIBALD? GAH GAH GAH.

HELP MEEEEE.

"GAHHHHHHHH!" I bellowed, straining to keep myself still.

Pomfrey's signature hat bustled back inside. She looked slightly panicked as she ran to my side.

"What is it?" she said, scanning my body for any physical dangers (i.e. daggers/small ninjas stabbing me repeatedly with sharpened wands. I'd had a dream about that once…it was quite odd…).

When she saw that I wasn't in any imminent danger, she relaxed a bit and frowned disapprovingly.

"I'm BORED," I moaned, ignoring the annoyed groans coming from my fellow patients.

"Right, this is for your own good," she said before muttering under her breath, "And my own."

Huh? HEY! TEACHERS WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE MEAN. THAT WENT AGAINST THE TEACHER CODE.

She quickly drew a small flask from the depths of her apron pocket and tipped its contents into my mouth before I could shut it.

GAH. A peculiar fuzzy sensation (almost like swallowing a cat...not that I'd know what that felt like or anything. Oh, sod off. It wasn't _my_fault that Sir Archibald decided to stuff his head into my mouth while I was sleeping!)

Wait…why…so…sleepy…

Everything was fuzzy and I watched Pomfrey nod smugly to herself before bustling away, but it was almost like she was in another world.

Ha. Another world…worldy world. Worldly world with words!

Wooo…

Look at all the black spots! They danced around me, darting closer before jumping away again.

And then the darkness took over.

xxxx

Blargh.

I opened my eyes wearily, reaching up to rub the sleep from them.

Wait. I could move!

I grinned broadly; the bindings were gone! I sat up, wincing a bit at the bright morning light streaming in from the window next to the cot. Morning? Just how long was I asleep – no, _knocked out_ – for? The last time I'd checked it was late afternoon.

I yawned and stretched, my arms reaching to either side of me.

My right fingers brushed against something soft before being stabbed by a familiarly sharp point.

My quills!

My grin broadened (if that was even possible) as I pushed myself all the way upright, ignoring the dull throbbing in my arm as I gathered up the brightly coloured quills from the dark nightstand.

I cradled my quills, tilting my chin so that the feather tips just brushed my nose. Mmm…nothing like the scent of weathered quills.

I spotted a golden quill from the corner of my eye. I bent down and gently placed the quills on the bed before reaching for the golden quill from the right side of the pile.

I picked it up gently, cradling the signature golden plumes. Just as Seth's owl had silver talons, this quill came from a rare golden bird whose feathers were made of pure gold but were still supple and soft.

Father had gotten this for my tenth birthday. It was my favourite quill and I rarely used it for fear of damaging it.

Who had done this?

I placed the golden quill back down before rummaging through the pile, carefully overturning feathers in search of a note, a hint, _something_ to identify the person who had given me my quills.

Nothing.

I sat down next to the pile, careful not to crush any of the feathers, and cradled my head in the palms of my hands.

Not many people knew about my quill collection. Only Seth, Scorpius, James, Potter…and Father.

Seth? No, he didn't even know my collection was missing. Besides, he was too focused on his own friends to really search for me. Scorpius? HAHAHA no. Potter? Ditto. Father? Of course not…the last time we'd spoken was in Second Year, and that resulted in him throwing a bloody chair at me. James? Huh. I didn't really know him that well, but…he _did_ know about the quills, and all the other choices weren't even possibilities.

It had to be James; Numberita agreed.

I smiled softly to myself; it was the first time anyone had really been thoughtful enough to go out and try to help me.

He wasn't a bad looking bloke, either. I mean, I'd heard the whispers (the girls in this school are _mental_). I suppose his dark brown hair was attractive, and although his eyes weren't almond-sha-wait. I HATED ALMOND SHAPED EYES. YES. THAT'S IT.

Erm. Moving on.

I was suddenly aware of the heavy, penetrating scent of antibacterial soap and medicine.

"Hi, Pomfrey," I said, still gazing thoughtfully at the pile of quills on the cot.

"You look a lot better," she observed – NO, REALLY? – before moving to unwrap the bandage surrounding my arm.

"Hm…"

I watched, holding my breath as she lifted the arm up 3.4 cm to see the skin better.

Please let me out…please let me out…please let me out…

"You can go."

"YES!" I yelled jovially, punching the air. Disgruntled mutters arose (jealous prats) from the people still immobilized on various cots throughout the room. Hah.

ADELA LANCASTER IS FREEE. FREEE I TELL YOU. FREE!

Wait. HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS I'D MISSED A FULL DAY OF SCHOOL.

I quickly scooped up my quills and began running towards the exit, my bare feet slapping against the uncomfortably cold tiled floor.

"Miss Lancastar! Your rob-"

Sorry, Pomfrey. ADELA STOPS FOR NO ONE.

I burst through the double doors and promptly caught my foot on the raised marble ledge (seriously. Who even invented those things? Did they _want_ to trip over millions – okay, maybe more like hundreds – of innocent students?) right at the edge of the doors.

I felt myself falling forward (stupid gravity!), my quills spilling to the ground with echoing _clinks_ as the metal ends scraped against the floor.

Bugger.

I quickly glanced over my shoulder and peered anxiously at the closed wooden doors, half-expecting Pomfrey to come bustling out and order me back into confinement for another decade (oh, shut it. I'm allowed to exaggerate after that ordeal!).

Silence.

I breathed a sigh of relief before examining my knee; I had a bloody scrape running from the top of my knee down about 3.2 inches, but other than that I was fine. I crawled on my knees (eh. Getting up took way too much effort), straining to reach each quill while remaining as still as possible (what? I'm out of shape. Deal with it).

After picking up each and every quill (although the leopard-spotted one was particularly difficult; it had lodged itself into a crevice about 2.4 inches farther than the length my arm could reach, but I eventually realized that I had a wand and just summoned it), I got up and carefully balanced each of the quills in a pyramid-formation designed to be as stable as possible.

Careful…careful…

Ha! I'd taken three steps without dropping a single quill!

Only…576 more steps until I reached the Ravenclaw Tower.

BLARGH WHY IS HOGWARTS SO BLOODY BIG.

I carefully shifted my wrist a bit, craning my neck over the various feathers to look at my watch.

It was 5:43 PM and 23 seconds. Classes had ended, and seeing as it was a Friday, there wouldn't be any more until Monday. Well, at least I had time to catch up on schoolwork.

Shuffle. Shuffle.

Merlin at this rate it would be _eight_ by the time I reached the Tower.

WHICH MEANT I WOULD MISS DINNER. NO. UNACCEPTABLE.

Food is important for a growing mind! Numberita requires it.

_Crash_.

I hissed, resisting the urge to start stamping my foot and shout random expletives to the empty corridor. I pinched the bridge of my nose (what? I'd seen distinguished people do it all the time, so by the transitive property of Adela, I too would be distinguished if I did it as well! See? Simple logic!) and breathed heavily.

One…two…three…ARGH I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

"OH BLOODY HELL WHY IN THE FUC-"

"Erm…are you alright?"

I paused, turning around slowly and pasting what I hoped looked like a threatening smile on my face.

"What?" I snapped, meeting her eyes.

Oh. It was whats-her-face…the one with the twenty-two braids in her hair.

Nope, don't remember her name.

She raised a delicate eyebrow before kneeling to pick up my quills. Bloody Hufflepuffs with their bloody helpfulness.

I'm sure they do it to make everyone else feel bad. It's probably all a ruse for when they take over the Wizarding World.

Not that that would happen while Adela Lancaster is around. HEHEHEHEHEE…

Right. Moving on.

I picked up the remaining 12 quills, nestling the golden one at the very top of the pile.

"Where to?"

"Ravenclaw T-"

WAIT. WHATS-HER-FACE=HUFFLEPUFF. SEE? SHE JUST WANTED TO KNOW WHERE RAVENCLAW TOWER WAS SO THAT SHE COULD MURDER US ALL IN OUR SLEEP.

"I don't want to murder you," she said, rolling her eyes.

Oops. I really have to work on not saying everything I think out loud.

"Yeah. You do."

Well. That wasn't a very Hufflepuff-like thing to say. I paused; had I said that out loud too? I peered at her for 1.2 seconds, but her face remained emotionless.

Whew.

"Besides, I know where the Ravenclaw Tower is," she said after 3.2 seconds of uncomfortable staring.

Huh?

"My boyfriend's in Ravenclaw," she explained, looking at me expectantly. Did she really expect me to know her boyfriend? I didn't even know her _name_ for Merlin's sake.

"He's a Seventh Year – Xavier King."

Oh. Whoop-de-doo?

Wait. Xavier. Holy hippogriff it was the evil Ravenclaw!

What was he doing with a _Hufflepuff_? I couldn't think of two people more dissimilar-wait, no. Potter and I were pretty much polar opposites, and…right. Standing in a corridor with random Hufflepuff.

Uncomfortable silence.

"Right, let's go then," I said after 32.5 excruciating seconds.

She nodded, beginning to walk. She turned the corner, heading down a corridor that looked like no one had used for decades.

OH MY LORD I _KNEW_ SHE WAS TRYING TO MURDER ME!

"You're in the infirmary robes. I don't think you'd want to be seen in them," came an airy voice from ahead.

Glancing down, I saw that I was indeed in the trademark flimsy gown that covered absolutely nothing.

I scowled; stupid Hufflepuffs with their stupid thoughtfulness.

**AN: Reviews lead to more updates! ;D Sigh. This chapter was so hard to write. I'm trying to fend off the writer's block for as long as I can though!**


	11. In Which Adela Becomes 20 Sickles Richer

**In Which Adela Becomes Twenty Sickles Richer**

** Author Note: Nothing much to say – enjoy! **** Thanks to everyone for reading!**

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me**

_Whap_.

I grinned, feeling the familiar numbing sensation as the vibration traveled through ol' Bessie to my arm (at a rate of about 32 miles per hour, in case you were wondering).

The bludger sailed away, the dark leather blurring as it sped towards the target.

_Ding_.

The target – a pale yellow object roughly cut in the shape of a human body – flung backwards, spinning downwards as the spell holding it in place was broken.

My smile broadened; perfect hit.

"Not bad, Lancaster!"

I looked towards the source of the sound; Nico grinned back at me, twin dimples appearing on either side of his freckled cheeks. I rolled my eyes before sticking my tongue out at him; what? I'm nothing if not dignified! Oh, shut it.

He leaned forward, his dirty blonde hair barely grazing the top of his broomstick (a rather nice Cleansweep model) before zooming forwards. He quickly turned so that the tail of his broomstick faced forwards, jerking the handle downwards and hitting the target with the end of his broom.

The target flew upwards, its thin shape spinning end-to-end as it slowly began to make its descent.

"Try and hit that!" he called, cupping his hands over his mouth.

"Ten sickles says she can't!" came a loud shout from my left.

I spared a quick second to glare at the speaker – a rather rowdy Chaser named…well, that wasn't very important. Oh, alright. So I didn't know his name – so what? At least I knew that he was a Seventh Year! That should count for something! – before adjusting my grip on ol' Bessie.

My eyes narrowed, watching the target's trajectory as it slowly trailed downwards; it was going quite slowly – the 9.8 m/s2 force of gravity must have been hindered by the force of the wind drafts currently blowing all over the Quidditch Pitch.

But anyway. My ears pricked as I heard the familiar faint whistling of a bludger as it speeds its way towards your gut (they always aim for the gut. Or the head. Whichever seems to be the most painful).

Keeping my eyes on the target, I slowly brought my arm back.

Wait for it…wait…wait…

There.

My arm whipped forward, connecting with the leather ball. The bludger spun, quickly shifting paths as ol' Bessie slammed into it.

Come on…come on…

I watched anxiously as the bludger made its way towards the target at an excruciatingly slow pace, my hands clenching and unclenching its grip on my broom.

_Clip_.

The bludger barely touched the target, the very left side of it just managing to scrape against the side of the still-falling target. Bugger.

The target tottered before falling at an only slightly changed trajectory.

I groaned; I'd miscalculated my aim!

"Woo! Twenty sickles richer!"

I was going to kill that boy. Or at least set Sir Archibald on him.

…Sir Archibald _had_ been pretty moody (probably because Rose had insisted on feeding him some "organic" food. She should know better; Sir Archibald refuses to eat anything other than left over shepherd's pie and owl pellets) lately; it would do him good to let out some of his anger.

Maybe he'd even scratch me less!

Ah…a life without painful claws to wake you up.

Wait a second. He'd bet that I couldn't _hit_ the target. I had! I quickly shifted forward, carefully balancing my knees as I looked down at the dark green ground below.

Huh. Hundreds of damp-looking yellow leaves dotted the ground, piling up in small mounds in some areas. Was it fall already? WHY DID SUMMER LEAVE SO QUICKL-

Right. Focus.

I scanned the general area (about a 3 foot x 3 foot area) where the target should have landed (judging by its trajectory). There! It was about 1.2 feet away from its original landing spot; proof that my bludger had hit it!

I grinned and shifted my gaze back upwards, darting forward to catch up with Nico.

"Wrong, my little boy!"

Nico grunted, his eyes still trained on the various bludgers now darting around the Pitch.

Hehe. He hates to be reminded of his younger (and thus obviously inferior!) status. That's right – respect your elders!

"The bludger landed 14 inches away from its expected destination; my bludger clipped it!" I said jovially, reaching over to ruffle his hair (he absolutely hates when I do that…which makes it all the more fun!)

He scowled, swiping at my hand and turning to face me.

"Adela, you are the most infu-"

I automatically began tuning him out. Wow, it certainly was chilly today. Maybe I should start wearing sweaters. Although I've always said that sweaters are for pansies.

Hehe. Pansies.

OH MY LORD A BLUDGER.

"Watch it!" I bellowed, shoving Nico out of the way. He yelped in surprise, dipping a few feet (around 4.7 feet, in case you were wondering. Which I'm sure you were) before regaining his balance.

_Crack_.

The bludger soared off towards the middle goal post at the other end of the Quidditch Pitch. My hand tingled, sharp prickling sensations darting up the length of my arm before gathering at my shoulder. I winced, experimentally shifting it up and down. It had been five weeks and three days since the plant had spat its poison at me (totally not my fault! Oh, stop looking at me like that. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE BLOODY PLANT WAS GOING TO UP AND VOMIT ON ME?), but my arm still ached at times of strenuous exercise.

I suppose that whacking heavy twenty-pound balls that hurtle towards you at ungodly speeds counts as strenuous exercise.

Right, that was going to hurt tomorrow.

I glanced westward; the sun was dipping below the hills in the distance, smearing the sky with blood red and orange hues. A few low-hanging clouds drifted slowly, their normally white bodies stained to warm shades as the sun sank. Judging by the sun's position, it was probably around 5:30 PM or so. Which meant another hour until practice was finished…that is, if Wood didn't find any other "horrendous" mistakes to perfect (yesterday he claimed that the Chaser dude – yes, that's what I'll refer to him as from now on. Numberita agrees – was tilting his body "3.4 inches too far to the right" when he was about to shoot at the goal posts, so he had us all do "core strengthening" exercises until bloody eleven o'clock. WHICH MEANT I'D MISSED DINNER. AND IT WAS SHEPHERD'S PIE. WHICH ALSO MEANT THAT I WAS UNHAPPY. UNHAPPY ADELA LEADS TO VIOLENCE).

"Right, team! Huddle up!" came Wood's (painfully) loud voice. I muffled my groan (the last time Wood caught me complaining was also the time he made me run ten. Bloody. Laps. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT IS? DO YOU _KNOW_ HOW MUCH PAIN/SUFFERING/VOMIT-INDUCING EXERCISE THAT WAS? YEAH, DIDN'T THINK SO) and slowly drifted downwards, my broom making lazy spins as I tried to prolong the journey for as long as possible.

Gah! My broom dipped suddenly, shooting forward as the tail got caught in a particularly strong gust of wind. I scowled; stupid broom. I'd had the same Nimbus 2300 since I was _eight_ (Father had given it to me for my eighth birthday, promising that I could get a newer model when I turned twelve. Of course, that was before the whole "OH MY LAHD YOU GOT SORTED INTO BLOODY RAVENCLAW? YOU ARE NOW FILTH. BEGONE FOUL BEAST!" ordeal. Okay, so maybe he didn't say it _exactly_ like that. But hey, I have artistic license!), and over the years it had become more and more unreliable.

Wood was always on my case about getting a new broom (he never understood that just because I came from a wealthy family, it didn't mean that I had any _access_ to those funds. The only things of any value that I owned were given to me before the whole Sorting. And I was saving those to sell for university or something…I wasn't completely sure what Numberita wanted to do-anyway, off topic. Point=Adela does not have a good broom. In case you were wondering what to get me for my birthday – which is in January! – or something. Cough. Cough. Hint). He always said that if I had a better broom, I could help the Ravenclaw team win the Cup and get it out of the clutches of those "bloody Slytherins/Gryffindors" (depending on which House currently had the Cup). Slytherins had won the Cup last year, so Wood went around shooting daggers at any Slytherin he saw. Actually, it was quite amusing. I think he made some poor First Year pee his pants once. Although I think the next day the First Year, being the Slytherin he was, went and put a few poisonous spiders in Wood's bed.

Anyway.

I'd asked him why he couldn't just _lend _me a broom, seeing as his father was the bloody coach of the Hollyhead Harpies. He'd spluttered a bit before storming off, looking a bit like he was a deranged psychopath. Looking back, I suppose that was a bit insensitive; I knew that Wood and his father were certainly not on the best of terms.

"_ADELA NICOLE LANCASTER_! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Bugger.

I quickly shot forward the remaining 10.3 feet left to the ground, jerking the handle upwards before I could slam face-first into the damp, leaf-strewn soil.

"Your middle name's _Nicole_?" asked one of the Scamander twins (I could never tell them apart), his pale green/yellow eyes widening a bit.

"Obviously," I snapped. He smiled dreamily before gazing off in the distance, his pale face devoid of any negative emotion. Right, he was a nutter.

_Slam_. Oh, just bloody _fantastic_. My broom had bloody gone and dumped me on the ground. I huffed, trying to get up with as much dignity as possible.

Well, I think I'm doing pretty well, given the circumstances. I flipped my ponytail behind me shoulder, lifting my nose up slightly.

"You've got grass bits on your arse."

Well then. I shot a quick glare at the commentator (it was the other Scamander twin, the one with the grey eyes). He shrugged, studying me closely with just a hint of disdain.

He was a _fourth year_! HE HAD NO RIGHT TO BE JUDGING ME.

"OI! RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!" I bellowed, stabbing my finger at his general direction.

He shrugged again, smirking a bit before turning his attention towards Wood (who was positively quivering by this point with barely-suppressed impatience. Merlin, _someone_ needs an oatmeal raisin cookie).

Weren't the Scamander twins supposed to be nutters, anyway? Why on earth was this one so…well, _sane_?

It was odd. Numberita didn't like it.

"AHEM."

Right. Angry Quidditch Captain=getting annoyed.

I turned towards Wood, smiling sweetly. He narrowed his eyes a bit before clearing his throat and continuing, "Right, now that I've _finally_ gotten the attention of _some_ people-" Here he shot me a (quite unnecessary, if you ask me) pointed glare "-I'd like to talk about our match against Gryffindor tomorrow."

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS IT WAS _TOMORROW_? I HADN'T EVEN BEGUN MY PRE-MATCH RITUALS OR EVEN PURCHASED THE NECESSARY 17 POUNDS OF SUGAR QUI-oh, stop with the judgment! It completely works!

"Now, not to put pressure – but we absolutely _need_ to win this!" he insisted, shaking his fist for emphasis (looking eerily like one of those old Muggles you see shaking their canes at random passerby). Merlin. Did that just happen? Yeah, he was still shaking that fist.

Wood needs to get a life.

"We are definitely capable of beating them – they lost to Slytherin during the finals last year _and_ we beat them last year-" Cheer, cheer, woo. I tell you, it's the sugar quills that did it! "-_But_ we can't get too cocky," Wood cut off the cheers, making sure to meet everyone's eyes in turn. We quieted, silent determination replacing smug cheers.

I had to hand it to him; Wood made a great Captain.

"I've been watching their practices and trying to glean as much information as I can; remember how their Beater used to always jump a bit whenever the announcer called out his name?"

We all nodded; it had been right useful at times. The Beater – some poor Third Year who had been new to the team last year – had hesitated before hitting the bludger that would have prevented Grey Eyes from scoring the winning goal (after winning those ten points, it ensured that when our Seeker caught the Snitch it would not be a tie). "Well, he's been training; he no longer hesitates at all. I've been watching the Ke-Keeper as well. She's improved," he added grudgingly, his voice catching a bit at the word "Keeper."

I eyed him, Numberita whirring; interesting development there. Did little Woody have a widdle crushy-wushy on-right, I'm sleep deprived.

Don't judge.

"-o we just need to keep working hard! I believe in all of you," Wood finished, shoving his gloved hand into the general middle (he was about 3.8 inches too far to the right, actually) of our huddle.

We all added our hands, each one piling on top of the previous hand.

"ONE. TWO. THREE."

"RAVENCLAW!" we bellowed, the shout echoing across the empty Quidditch pitch.

Right, we rock.

GRYFFINDORS ARE GOING DOWN.

The team gradually dispersed as the various genders headed to their respective locker rooms (actually, there are only two girls on this whole bloody team. Including me. DOES THAT SCREAM SEXISM OR WHAT?), chatting about the dinner they were about to devour.

I turned, moving to follow the crowd when a hand grasped my upper arm.

"Adela, wait," Wood said, his voice hushed.

Not _again_. Ever since I'd missed the first practice, Wood had been really tough on me. As in, he's been keeping me after practice _every. Single. Bloody. Time._ He keeps babbling on about "covert missions" and "you need to fix your form!"

I usually just ignore him.

"Potter was absent from the Gryffindor practice yesterday. Find out why, will you?"

Huh? Why would Potter be at the _Gryffind_-oh. Numberita caught up; Wood was referring to James.

James. A small smile spread across my face; ever since he gave me back my quills, I've looked at him with a different light. Do you know how bloody _long_ I've been waiting to find a decent bloke? We'd talked a few times after that, but it was strictly as friends. Unfortunately, my newfound affection for him left me…slightly speech impaired. As in, I burbled like a nutter about "OH LOOK AT THAT SQUIRREL HOW NICE" and "WOW YOUR FAMILY IS SO BIG. I TOLD YOU THEY DON'T USE PROTECTION!"

Wait. Why would Wood ask _me_ to spy on James? Was I that obvious? The acrid taste of panic rose in my throat, threatening to force me to gag.

"Erm…why me?"

Wood rolled his eyes, huffing impatiently.

Well. Someone's feeling extra sassy today.

"_Because_, Adela Nicole Lancaster-" Okay, that boy _needs_ to stop with the full name business. If he didn't, I knew of a certain cat who would be _more_ than happy to use him as target practice. "-you know him the best out of everyone on this team…which reminds me. WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY?"

He bellowed that last bit, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Right. One second he's saying I should _spy_ on James, the next he says I'm bloody fraternizing with the enemy? And he says _I'm_ the nutter?

Merlin.

And what about Rose? She was his bloody _cousin_!

Right, you don't know yet; I'd forgotten. Our Seeker graduated last year, so we were in desperate need of a new one. I thought Wood was going bloody insane; he'd accost random Ravenclaws in the hopes of finding a decent Seeker. Rose finally volunteered to try out when she found Wood leaving notes in the First Years' dorms about "magical candy" that "all Seekers would get if they help the Ravenclaw Quidditch team wins!"

I had to agree with Rose on this one; magical candy? _Really_? Anyway, Rose turned out to be a _fantastic_ Seeker (who knew?) and was admitted to the team on the spot.

"She'd never agree," Wood said, flapping his hand dismissively and shaking his head.

And _I_ would?

Catching my expression and the way I was gripping ol' Bessie, Wood changed tactics hurriedly. He grasped my arms, bending down (alright, so I'm not the tallest of people. Sod off!) to look me in the eyes.

"Please, Adela? For Ravenclaw?" he whined, pouting a bit.

What seventeen-year-old boy _pouts_, for Merlin's sake?

I rolled my eyes, shoving his hands off of me.

"Fine."

**AN: Thanks for reading! **** Please review =D**


	12. Numberita Requires Bacon

**Numberita Requires Bacon**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone for reading/reviewing/favouriting! **** I AM OFFICIALLY ON WINTER BREAK WOO! Unfortunately, I'm also suffering from a horrible cold. Which is not fun. At all. Anyway, I've decided to do a contest-details at the end of the chapter! ;D**

I am a bloody idiot.

Why on _earth_ did I ever agree to Wood's ridiculous request?

I could be eating _bacon_ right now, chomping cheerfully away with the rest of the sane, normal people.

Instead I'm camped out behind this (DISGUSTINGLY DUSTY) tapestry, cobwebs managing to get INSIDE OF MY NOSE.

And all because I had no idea where the Gryffindor Common Room was.

However, I hadn't been at Hogwarts for six years for nothing. Numberita had observed over the years that hordes of Gryffindor students came piling down this particular set of stairs every day. Fortunately (or unfortunately, judging by the mysterious substance that had just lodged itself onto my neck), there was a large tapestry at the top of the stairs – perfect for hiding.

I brought my hand up, quickly brushing it against the mysterious substance. Ew. Ew. Ew. It had a disturbingly high viscosity and was sticky to the touch. I winced, smearing it against the tapestry's heavy cloth before sticking my head out again.

Come on…come on…

Where had all the Gryffindors gone? I'D BEEN WAITING HERE FOR BLOODY THIRTY MINUTES AND TWENTY-TWO SECONDS…

Wood was going to die.

I stuck my head out another 3.4 inches, peering at the empty corridor. Painting after painting lined the hallway, and a particularly large oil painting of a rather…plump lady stood at the opposite end. I eyed her curiously, noting the way she was currently snoring, a line of drool just touching the shoulder of her silken pink dress.

Wait. Could this be the Fat Lady that was mentioned before…?

"Adela?"

Gah!

I fell out from my precarious perch behind the tapestry, my arms flailing as I slammed into the (painfully hard) floor.

"Oompf," I mumbled, my face firmly pressed into the dirty floor.

Chuckle, chuckle. Oh, _yes_, Adela falling on the ground is _so_ funny! I scowled into the ground, my fingers twitching.

Two hands grasped my arms, wrenching me upwards. I stumbled, falling into the person.

"Hi, Adela." The voice barely managed to conceal laughter. My scowl deepened, and I looked upwards to spot dark blue eyes.

James!

I flushed, looking away quickly.

"What were you doing spying on the Gryffindor Common Room?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Erm…um…IT'S ALL WOOD'S FAULT YES THAT SOUNDS RIGHT. YOUR PAINTING HAS DROOL ON IT. I DIDN'T THINK PAINTINGS _COULD_ DROOL ACTUALLY. WHERE DOES IT COME FROM? THE PAINTER DIDN'T _PAINT_ THE DROOL, SO HOW DOES IT EXIST? NUMBERITA HAS HYPOTHESIZED THA-"

James's face turned an odd purplish colour before his mouth burst open, loud laughs echoing across the hallway.

Well.

My blush deepened as Numberita finally (finally!) caught up to what I had just spouted.

Merlin. I really shouldn't be let out of the house.

"Right, well, I guessIshouldbegoingnowsoumby e-!"

"Wait!" he managed, still doubled over with laughter.

Well. I'm glad _someone_ is amused by this situation. I huffed, crossing my arms.

He sobered, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair from his eyes.

"Wood sent you to spy on us?"

Bugger. I _really_ needed to learn how to keep my mouth shut.

"Er…"

"Huh. I always thought he'd have more…respect for the game. I'd always pegged him as the do-good type," he said almost to himself, looking deep in thought.

I swallowed a disbelieving snort; _Wood_? A do-gooder? The bloke had tackled me while I was _immobilized_ in the _infirmary_!

"Why weren't you in practice the other day?"

He raised an eyebrow again before shrugging, a smirk firmly planted on his face. The tips of his lips rose as he struggled to keep down a smile.

"Who knows, little one?" he said jovially, the grin finally breaking out.

Merlin, he was like a bloody _Hufflepuff_. Why couldn't he take me seriously? AND I WAS ONLY A YEAR YOUNGER. WE COULD STILL GET MARRIED AND HA-oh Merlin. It seems that Numberita, having been deprived of any decent blokes for the past sixteen years, had decided to turn me into one of those lovesick, depraved fangirls at the first sign of a genuinely thoughtful guy.

I really am a nutter.

DON'T YOU DARE TELL SETH I JUST SAID THAT.

James stepped forward and hugged me, enveloping me with the scent of burning wood and summer breezes. Gah. Gah. Gah. WHAT DO I DO IN THIS SITUATION?

I turned away, hoping to hide my burning cheeks.

"Erm, James?"

"Yeah?"  
Oh, his voice vibrated through his chest in a _very_ nice way. I pressed my face a bit closer to his robes, hoping that he wouldn't notice.

"Um…thanks for the quills," I mumbled. After all, it was about time that I thanked him for finding them; they were the reason that I'd seen what a decent bloke he was.

"Qu-" he began before getting interrupted.

"Potter's got a little girlfriend!" a loud, obnoxious voice shouted from behind us.

THAT'S RIGHT. HE DOES. SO BACK O-

James backed away, still grinning.

"Sod off!" he called out before reaching down to ruffle my hair.

"Adela's like a sister," he said fondly, flashing me another grin before going off to join the Obnoxious One (a red-headed Gryffindor that looked oddly famili…Fred! HE WAS GOING TO DIE. HOW DARE HE RUIN THAT MOMEN-wait. Had James just called me a _sister_?).

Bugger.

I, Adela Lancaster, had just gotten sister-zoned.

MERLIN WHY DO YOU HATE ME?

I smiled weakly back at him before mumbling something about needing to feed Sir Archibald (which I actually did, now that I thought about it) before stumbling away, just managing to catch my balance before I fell (again).

Keep walking, Adela. You can do it. Just 538 more steps to go…

xxxxx

There was really nothing quite like tears to make a girl feel better.

I sniffed, finally managing to draw my head from its perch on my pillow.

A thin trail of snot connected my cheek to the now thoroughly damp white cloth.

Charming.

James's grinning face wafted into my vision and I promptly burst into tears again.

Merlin, I'm pathetic.

Since when am I the type of girl to sob over a bloke? I didn't need him! I had ol' Bessie and Sir Archibald!

Sir Archibald took this opportunity to plop himself on the back of my head, his fluffy white tail flicking the end of my nose.

I smiled weakly, clumsily lifting a hand to pat him. He purred, the vibrations resonating through my head.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, I sat up, causing Sir Archibald to fall into my laugh. He hissed indignantly before stalking away, his tail and nose held high.

I didn't need James! Who cared if he was my first bloke I really liked? (Oh, shut it. That one time in First Year doesn't count!)

My gaze strayed at the pile of quills resting on my nightstand. My mouth quivered…

No. No. No.

ADELA STAY STRON-

Gah! Tears welled up again, spilling over my cheeks and pooling at my (ruined) shirt.

A steaming cheery yellow mug was shoved into my vision. I gazed downwards, my mind not quite comprehending it (what? YOU TRY CRYING FOR 35 MINUTES – SEE IF YOU'RE COHERENT AFTER THAT).

I looked first at the pale, freckled hand holding the handle, traveling the length of the arm until I spotted dark red curls.

Rose.

I smiled weakly, grasping the mug and bringing it upwards. Mm…warm pumpkin juice. My favourite.

"Thanks," I managed, taking a small sip before cupping the mug with my hands.

"No problem," she answered, sitting down at the edge of my bed.

Silence.

Well, looks like she wasn't about to leave anytime soon. I leaned back on the headboard, still cradling the warm mug.

"What happened?" she blurted out.

I looked down at the steam rising from the mug; it really was quite pretty…

"Don't worry, everyone's at lunch," she added, clasping her hands together.

Huh. I laughed bitterly; I didn't even care that I was missing a meal.

How sad was that? Since when did I let a bloke dictate my life?

"James said I was like a sister," I said finally, setting the mug down into my lap. She nodded, her eyes filled with just a bit too much understanding for my liking.

Was my affection really that obvious?

Reading my expression, she said, "Don't worry. I don't think anyone else noticed…although I think Sco-Malfoy and Al might have; I saw them discussing it the other day."

I scoffed; they were probably laughing at my pathetic infatuation.

"Can I…can I ask what you saw in my cousin?" she asked tentatively, her eyes searching my face.

"He's the first decent bloke I've met," I said, running my hands through my knotted hair.

Gah. My fingers got caught midway, and I was left with my hand tangled in my hair. I casually tried easing it out, but it stayed stuck. Rose (of course) noticed and leaned over, untangling my hair with ease.

Well then.

"James can be a prick. What did he do to make you think he was decent?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

I bristled a bit; sure, James had broken my heart (what? I'd had five weeks worth of silent pining to build my affections over!), but that didn't mean I was completely over him. I still felt the need to defend him; sure, I'd heard rumours of James being a notorious flirt and prankster, but he couldn't be _that_ bad – after all, he'd been sensitive and caring enough to return my quills!

"He returned my quills."

Rose glanced quickly at the pile of quills still lying on my nightstand.

She looked back at me, an unspoken question shown clearly in her confused expression.

I sighed heavily, drawing my knees upwards so that I could rest my chin on them. I studied her; her dark brown eyes were widened questioningly and she looked genuinely interested. She was the only one who had thought to check up on me…

I suppose I could tell her.

"-and when I woke up the next day, the quills were returned to me; James had found them and given them to me," I finished.

"Huh," she said, clearly deep in thought.

I scowled a bit; I'd just spilled my back-story to her, and all she had to say was _huh_? WHERE WAS OL' BESSIE?

"How do you know it was James?" she asked, tilting her head quizzically.

I rolled my eyes; silly Weasley. Numberita had come to that conclusion from a series of well-designed experiments and hypotheses and hours of research…alright, maybe not _that_ much, but still! Numberita was never wrong!

"_Because_, only a few people know, and the only ones who do would never have thought to do that," I said, exasperation staining my voice. She opened her mouth, looking like she was about to say something, but stopped when she noticed that I was close to tears again.

"Rose, how could he _do_ this to me?" I wailed, haphazardly grabbing my (abused) pillow and planting my face into the sodden fabric.

"He's a prat," she said, gently pulling the pillow away. "Besides, James hasn't had a steady girlfriend since, well…ever. I don't think he's ever had one."

I sniffed, reaching down and gulping another loud sip of pumpkin juice.

Numberita fled to another topic (what? I've never been good with talking about myself for too long)…Scorpius!

Wow, Numberita. Way to pick a _great_ subject to dwell on. Scorpius had tried to apologize repeatedly over the past few weeks, even asking Seth to talk to me (ha. That only made it worse; Seth thought a good way to make me feel better would be to give me a full set of Morgana dolls: the Christmas edition. Honestly, I'd liked those dolls for _two weeks_ when I was _five_. Of course, Seth had chosen to give them to me during lunch. With. Every. Single. Person. Watching). I'd eventually forgiven him a few days ago, if only to get him to stop pestering me.

"What happened between you and Scorpius?"

Rose flushed, her pale skin darkening to a violently red colour.

Hah. At least I'm not the only one who blushes like that.

WOOT SUCCESS.

"Whatdoyoumean?" she said hurriedly, her eyes darting around for an escape route.

Hehehe. Now, if only I had ol' Bessie. Then I could _really_ get some work done.

Seth always did say that I was a muggle mobster in a past life.

"You keep calling him Scorpius and you smelled him in your Amortentia," I pointed out. She flushed even more (if that was possible), steadfastly studying the bludger-patterned blanket on my bed.

"If you smelled him in your Amortentia, it means you at _least_ fancy him," I added. At this she looked up and rolled her eyes. Great. I'd set off the know-it-all Rose.

"Of _course_ I know that!" she snapped.

"I just…I just don't like it," she said in a slightly quieter voice, going back to observing my blankets. I glanced down; was there something magical about them? Did the bludgers suddenly turn into Quaffle-eating house elves (I'd had a dream about that once) or something?  
Nope, still the same old dark brown bludgers.

"Did something happen between you two?" I asked, sitting up a bit at the prospect of new information. What? I'm a Ravenclaw – I need to know EVERYTHING.

Seth always said that I was a nosy nuisance, but I always just replied by spouting random facts about Seth's burping habits (he burps 22 times in a day, depending on what he eats) and other unsavory details that he _certainly_ wouldn't want to be leaked to a certain fan club…hehe. He left me alone after that.

"Wesnoggedduringthesummer," she said quickly, her words blurring together.

Wha-? Okay, as awesome as I am, even _I_ couldn't understand that. And I could understand Seth's slurred words when he comes back from various parties (he usually just mumbles on and on about some purple penguin that threatens to steal his Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans), so that was saying something.

Rose took a deep breath before continuing, her eyes still fixated on the blanket.

"We snogged at the end of summer break."

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS.

Numberita did a little victory dance; here was confirmation that I was absolutely, positively 100% correct!

"How…?" I began, struggling to keep the smugness from my voice (I deserve a bloody _medal_ for my self-control. Or 10 pounds of chocolate. Your choice).

"There was some Ministry ball during the last week before school. I'm always horridly bored at those events-" That, I could understand. Back when I was still taken to important dances (when I was still a member of the family and not a "bloody disgrace"), I remember I would always just hide out underneath a table or something and entertain myself by flinging various appetizers at innocent passerby.

"I went to the garden to catch some air and found Scorp-Malfoy. We talked for a bit and ended up…well, you know," she said, blushing a bit.

"You know, it won't kill you to call him Scorpius. It's just a first name, after all," I pointed out, stretching my arms.

She raised an eyebrow before saying, "You always call Al 'Potter'"

I scowled; _that_ was something completely different.

"That's different."

"Right," she said disbelievingly.

"What happened after that?" I asked, hurriedly changing the subject.

"Nothing. I came to my senses and ran away…but not before that git left his mark on me," she said bitterly, glaring at her hands.

I gaped; had he…?

She happened to catch my horrified expression and hastily shook her head.

"Nothing like that! I just meant that I…couldn't stop thinking about him."

Aw, how sweet. At least someone was happy.

Oh, shut it Adela. Stop being so bitter!

No.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

I WILL BRING OL' BESSIE OUT. I quickly twisted to the left, yanking ol' Bessie from her perch inside my bag.

Rose interrupted me by grabbing ol' Bessie, wrenching it out of my grasp.

"What are you _doing_?"

I blinked; wow. Alright, Numberita was _clearly_ not feeling well right now. I needed some much-needed bacon.

"Bacon."

"_What_?"

"Baconnn," I moaned, thrashing around a bit.

"Um."

"BACONBACONBACON!" I bellowed, kicking my legs out. Rose jumped off the bed, a horrified expression on her face.

What? I need bacon! Numberita requires it.

"I'll be right back!" she shouted before running out of the dorm.

Hopefully it would be with bacon.

**AN: Thanks for reading! CONTEST: I'll pick two random reviewers (who review after this chapter is published) using a random generator to receive two chapters in advance (just no spoiling! ;D)! So make sure to review! c;**


	13. Do Goblins Even Have Medical Insurance?

**What Kind of Medical Insurance do Goblins even have?**

** Author Note: Still sick (blargh). Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed! Congrats to Deathly-Hunger-Jackson and Ergelina for winning the two chapters in advance :) Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it and happy holidays to everyone! =D**

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me**

Omnomnom.

Merlin, I love bacon.

Rose had returned 5 minutes and 32 seconds later with a platter full of crispy bacon still sizzling from the pan.

As I steadily devoured my way through the platter (there were precisely 12 slices), Rose kept making disbelieving noises.

Finally, after the _fifth_ gasp, I looked up, still clutching the twelfth strip.

"What?" I mumbled, spraying bacon bits all over the blanket. What? I'm nothing if not a lady!

I TOOK BLOODY LADY LESSONS FOR THREE YEARS.

"Aren't you…full?" Rose asked, looking a tad queasy. I shrugged, swallowing the last bit of bacon.

"You can never be too full for bacon!" I said brightly, my mood considerably improved. Rose blinked before shrugging.

"You're just like Al," she observed, vanishing the empty platter with a brisk flick of her wand.

What.

No.

SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.

SOMEONE WAS GOING TO DIE.

"He loves bacon. Grandma Molly has to literally wrestle it away from him sometimes," she continued, oblivious to my indignant spluttering.

Right, time to change the subject. WHY OH WHY DID SHE HAVE TO TAINT BACON FOR ME? Now I couldn't eat it anymo-no. _Potter_ would just have to stop eating bacon.

So there.

Oh, stop scoffing. You would do the same if you knew just how _infuriating_ he is. Need I bring up the infamous First Year encounter again?

Yeah, didn't think so.

Rose smoothed her skirt primly, tucking her auburn hair behind her freckled ears. She really was quite pretty; I could see why Scorpius had snogged her.

Noticing my gaze, Rose raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged before telling her Numberita's currenty hypothesis.

To my surprise, she bristled, her ears turning red (again).

"Right, because all Scorpius cares about is if the girl is fit. No, not intelligence – that would be _way_ too much to ask for!" she shouted derisively, flinging her hands around in a somewhat worrisome manner.

"Erm," I said intelligently. Wow, Adela. You certainly _do_ have a way with words. Maybe you should consider a career in journalism.

…

I really do need to stop referring to myself in the third person.

Rose fumed silently, her hands wringing my blankets. I eyed them nervously before venturing, "Scorpius really does fancy you."

She scoffed, slamming the blankets down (at which I winced; what? I only have one blanket! GIVE ME BLUDGER BLANKETS OR GIVE ME DEATH. Right, not sure if that was used properly. Oh well. Muggle history has never been my strong suit).

"Right, that's why he went and snogged that blonde bint not even a full week after we snogged," she said, sarcasm dripping vehemently from each word.

I winced; well, Scorpius certainly screwed things up. Good thing he had Adela Lancaster on his side! It was odd, really. I had no idea why I was so…well, _invested_ in their relationship, but somehow I really wanted them to be together. As in, I stayed up all last night scribbling down battl-erm, _matchmaking_ strategies in my Awesome Journal.

Oh, sod off. It is _not_ a diary. It's just a notebook that I write my thoughts in. And plots to get Seth into trouble, now that I think about it. And some potential petitions (that bed sheet one is still bookmarked).

"He's a prat?" I offered weakly. She rolled her eyes before sighing, her back slumping.

"Yeah," she said quietly, absent-mindedly trailing her fingers around a bludger. "He is."

She seemed to shake herself, her body convulsing a bit (OH MERLIN WAS SHE GOING TO DIE ON MY BED? I WAS TOO YOUNG TO BE THROWN INTO JAIL!).

"Right, I have no idea how we ended up talking about my issues," she said briskly.

Oh. Gah. Initiate innocent whistling!

_Blersp. _

I spluttered in a vague attempt at whistling, my lips pursing as flecks of spittle flew out. Oops.

Right, note to self: learn how to whistle.

I'd better write that down in the Awesome Journal.

Rose politely ignored my pathetic attempts, instead leaning forward and asking, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Her brown eyes peered upwards, searching my soul (INVASION OF PRIVACY ALERT BEEP BEEP BEEP).

I nodded, looking away.

Strangely enough, I did feel better. I no longer wanted to tear my heart out or whack random objects with ol' Bessie.

Alright, so maybe I still wanted to hit things. But that was normal in the life of Adela.

"Yeah, actually. I mean, I'm sure I'll find another decent bloke at _some _point, right?"

"Right."

I smiled at Rose.

"Thanks again."

She grinned back, lurching forward and flinging her arms around me.

GAH. SOCIAL AWKWARDNESS AT DANGEROUSLY HIGH LEVELS. ADELA DOES NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Thankfully, she disentangled herself from me after 2.3 seconds, still grinning broadly.

"Right, want to go down to the kitchens?" I asked, my stomach rumbling a bit. Rose looked a bit horrified. What? Was my hair green again? I reached behind and roughly yanked a bit of hair forward, peering at it. Nope, still the same boring brown.

"You just ate a whole platter of bacon!" she said after it became clear that I had no idea what she was thinking about (really. Did the girl think I was bloody _telepathic_ or something?).

I blinked; so? Hadn't we already gone over this? Bacon (and chocolate, now that I think about it) does not fill you up at _all_. Which means, by the Awesome Transitive Property of Adela, that it's about zero calories.

Yup, it's a scientific fact.

She rolled her eyes before getting off the bed and moving towards the door.

"Oh, alright," she said wearily. I knew there was a reason I tolerated her!

I jumped off the bed, quickly darting back to grab ol' Bessie before following her out.

Maybe I could get some more bacon!

xxxxx

Blargh.

I hate mornings.

The (unfortunately) familiar feeling of a sharp claw prodding into your side arose. I groaned, shoving myself upwards and blinking blearily in the morning light.

My stomach gurgled a bit unhappily; the previous day I had gorged myself on chocolate ice cream and bacon and found that my Awesome Property did not hold true for all occasions. As in, I spent the majority of last night throwing up/cradling the toilet. Woo for inventive ways to spend a Saturday night! While everyone else was attending some Gryffindor party (seriously. Don't they _ever_ get tired of the constant partying?). Adela Lancaster: breaking teenage stereotypes for sixteen years and counting!

It was not fun.

Prod. Prod. Prod.

This time, a claw dug in deeper, cutting into my skin. I hissed (drawing disgruntled moans from my pathetically hungover dorm mates) and jolted off the bed, muttering curses under my breath.

I yanked my trunk open, rummaging a bit before finding the canister of owl pellets that I kept nestled in between some cardigans (SWEATERS ARE EVIL) and some chewed-up boots (Sir Archibald decided to use it as an appetizer while I was in the infirmary). I pinched my nose, wrenching the top off with a slight wince. The acrid stench of owl vomit wafted through the room as I inverted the canister 120˚ and dumped two pellets on the royal blue carpet. Sir Archibald scurried over, licking them delicately three times (oh, it was a good day! On bad days he licks it twice) before pouncing on it and devouring them whole. The sound of bones crunching filled the room and my dorm mates groaned again, some muttering something about "finding a special home in the lake" for Sir Archibald. Hah. I'd like to see them try.

But seriously – the sound of Sir Archibald chomping away at owl pellets certainly did _not_ help my queasiness.

I glanced down at my pajamas (the same smiley-face ones from before) before shrugging and heading out the door. I'm sure no one would be out in the Tower; after all, it was only – I quickly glanced at my watch – 7:32 AM on a Sunday.

My pajamad feet (alright, so I wear footsie pajamas. YOU WOULD TOO IF YOU KNEW HOW BLOODY COLD HOGWARTS FLOORS ARE) padded down the marble stairs. I gripped the bronze railing for support as my feet slid a bit on the stairs (note to self: file a petition for some rubber mats or something on the stairs).

GAH.

Three steps away from the bottom (so close!), my right foot (the traitor) slipped, causing my body to fall backwards and my arse to hit the very edge of the fourth stair.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

I tumbled downwards, my hair whipping into my eyes (GAH. THE PAIN) and my injured arm managing to fling itself at my nose.

Well, I'm certainly the _epitome_ of gracefulness.

…

Is it possible for someone to be addicted to sarcasm?

Hm.

Numberita says no.

I groaned from my heap on the floor, my face firmly pressed against the cold marble.

"Not very graceful, are you?"

Sigh.

I pushed myself upwards, brushing off my pajamas with as much dignity as I could muster.

"You caught me at a bad time," I said coolly, meeting the amber eyes of a certain Xavier King.

He glanced at my pajamas, his smirk widening to a full out grin.

UGH WHY DID I LEAVE OL' BESSIE UPSTAIRS?

"Nice pajamas," he chortled. I crossed my arms, glaring.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Why are _you_?"  
"Sir Archibald."

"Right. The demon cat."

"He is _not_ a dem-er, well, yeah, he kind of is," I admitted, thinking back to the time where he scratched me so deeply that I had to get stitches.

Laugh. Chortle. Giggle. Oh, right, because Sir Archibald's viciousness is _so_ funny.

"But he's really sweet once you get to know him!" I continued hotly. He rolled his eyes before collapsing on a nearby couch.

"Going off to see ickle-Jamesie?" he asked, amusement running through his voice.

I paused; he _knew_ that I fancy-er, _fancied_ him?

Catching my horrified expression, he rolled his eyes (again!) before saying, "You really are so obvious. _Anyone_ could tell by the way you pined after him…you bloody well drooled right in front of everyone during dinner the other day."

Well. I hadn't _drooled_ – Adelas do not do anything that remotely disgusting (oh, sod off. I can see that snide look). I'd merely…admired. From a distance.

Anyway, _I_ certainly wasn't going to stand around here anymore.

I stalked off towards the direction of the door, calling out, "Have fun with _ickle Katesie_!"

I didn't bother waiting for a response; I slammed the door behind me (Dobby wasn't very happy with that) and ran down the stairs, holding onto the railing for dear life.

Right, I probably should have thought this through. I was standing in the middle of the corridor in my _footsie pajamas_, and it wasn't like I could go back to my dorm – Xavier was probably just waiting to shout out "I told you so!" or something like that while dancing like a muggle disco person.

I don't know where I come up with these scenarios.

I sighed wearily before beginning to walk, each foot lifting approximately 4.67 inches before dropping back down.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

I paused in front of the right-hand bend to gaze at the corridor.

Hm, that painting was new. I examined it with detached interest, noting that there were 32 miniature goblins currently battling it out on the canvas. 32 goblins…60 arms. Why 60? Well, two of the goblins were one-armed, probably a result from the battle…I wonder what goblins did for medical insurance coverage they get…do they even _get_ medical insu-wow. Am I really wasting Numberita's valuable brain space on this?

"I AM SO BLOODY BORED!" I wailed into the empty corridor (by now I was somewhere on the first floor), the sound echoing eerily.

"Lancaster?"

Oh no. I'd know that (admittedly nice-soundin-ERM I MEAN HORRIBLY RASPY AND DISGUSTING) voice anywhere.

My heart sinking, I turned around slowly.

"What?"

A dark eyebrow was raised as the boy smirked a bit before answering. Git.

"So, you fancy my brother."

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please review! **


	14. Juliet, Juliet Wherefore Art Thou Juliet

**Juliet, Juliet, Wherefore Art Thou Juliet?**

** Author Note: I have to say, the one good thing about being sick is that I finally have the chance to write some chapters in advance! The bad thing? Being sick.**

"I don't fancy James."

"Ah, but who said I was talking about _that_ brother?"

I stared at Potter; what?

"You only have one brother."

"I count as five thousand people."

What in Merlin's name was wrong with Potter today?

He smirked a bit, clearly enjoying my confusion; I scowled, narrowing my eyes.

"Right, what do you want?" I snapped, making sure to check my watch (what? Potter had to know that he wasn't worth my time!). I peered at him from underneath my eyelashes to make sure he was watching; yup, but he had that infuriatingly knowing look on his face. I dropped my arm with a small huff and instead began tapping my foot.

He sobered, his smirk dropping from his face.

"Look, Lancaster. My brother's trouble," he said seriously, his eyes penetrating (SERIOUSLY. THEY SHOULD BE LABELED AS A DANGEROUS WEAPON WORTHY OF CONFISCATION) mine.

I gaped back intelligently (my every movement is intelligent! It comes with being a Ravenclaw); clearly Potter hadn't heard of the whole "Adela gets sister-zoned and spends an hour sobbing by herself before receiving wondrous bacon from that red-headed girl in her dorm who also just happens to be his cousin" ordeal of yesterday.

Right, Rose was a good mate; she hadn't told anyone.

I smiled a bit, musing to myself. Rose was my first female friend…it was odd (and full of unwanted hugs), but it was kind of nice at the same time. You kind of get tired of whacking blokes 24/7 with ol' Bessie after a while…

Oh, sod off. You won't hear me say that again, so stop nagging!

Potter clearly took my smile as a symbol of adoration for his brother and frowned, stepping a bit closer (4.3 inches closer, to be precise. Precision is quite important, you know. Or you don't, considering you're not a Ravenclaw). The invigorating scent of pine trees and freshly fallen snow wafted over, instantly clearing up the last of the effects of my tears (what? Crying for an hour leaves you with a stuffed nose! IT'S NORMAL OKAY).

Hm. Note to self: find out whatever cologne Potter uses and patent it as a congestion reliever. Then make millions and use it all to buy a giant gingerbread house filled with bacon and pumpkin juice. Then eat it all. Repeat process.

Sounds like a great career! Now, I just had to find out whatever cologne he used…

I inhaled surreptitiously, leaning just a bit (2.1 inches) closer so I could identify the scent better (okay, it was also to smell that scent a bit more – only to clear up my congestion, mind you!).

"James has never had a real girlfriend; I've seen him bring back brainless bin-are you _smelling _me?"

Bugger. He'd caught me.

I smiled innocently, Numberita whirling to come up with a witty response.

Loading…loading…Merlin, Numberita was as bad as one of those old Muggle computers! Oh, whatever. I'd just have to come up with a response on my own.

"What cologne do you use?"

GAH NO. NOT THAT RESPONSE. NOW HE WAS GOING TO GAH GAH GAH.

Potter eyed me weirdly, his eyebrow raising again.

"Er…I don't use cologne," he said slowly, clearly thinking that I was mental. Which he did already, considering what he said in the carriage when he saw me jabbing at my head (which I suppose anyone would have said when confronted with some girl with green hair that seems to be intent on poking her hair. But still. Rude).

Wait. He _didn't_ use cologne?

"Aftershave?"

He shook his head, backing away 0.2 inches.

"Right, I'd expect these kind of questions from one of those girls who follow me around for a bit of hair or something, but not _you_," he said, shaking his head.

I stiffened; he did _not_ just compare me to one of those…those…despicable members of his _fan club_. I didn't even _like_ the bloke; in fact, I hated him!

Ahem. Exhibition A: THE FIRST YEAR INCIDENT, REMEMBER?

And _no_, I will _not_ stop harping about it. So there.

"Sod off, Potter," I said, unable to come up with a witty retort. Note to self: study up on the art of the comebacks.

He rolled his eyes, clearly deeming my comment unworthy of a response.

Git.

Potter stepped forward, decreasing the distance between us to a scant 12.2 inches.

"But seriously, Lancaster – James isn-"

I leaned back quickly, banging my head into the gilded frame behind me.

"Oi! Watch it! Your head almost landed in my soup!" came a very broken Irish accent from behind me.

I whirled around (banging my head _again_ in the process; Hogwarts really should get rid of those gilded frames – they stick out 4.5 inches from the wall, which is 4.5 inches too many if you ask me. Which you did. Don't deny it), stumbling a bit as I backed away from the wall.

A man dressed in torn britches and a patched up overcoat sat in a grand ballroom (interesting contrast there…), cradling a bowl of some steaming substance (presumably soup) and was in the process of bringing it to his (stained) lips.

"Wha'? Oo never see a painting before?" he jeered before slurping some of the soup.

Wow.

Hogwarts _really_ needed to get another interior decorator. I could just imagine this painting harassing the innocent (okay, maybe not so innocent – I saw a Gryffindor First Year talking about the art of groping the other day) Firsties. He'd probably offer to let them "smell his foot" or something (there was actually a highly suspicious painting on the third floor corridor that did this every Thursday at 10:23 AM).

A muffled clanking sound came from somewhere within the painting, and I caught a brief glimpse of a knight galloping (no, he didn't have a horse. He was just doing his thing, galloping…by himself…SEE THIS IS WHY HOGWARTS NEEDS A MAJOR REVAMP) through the forest on the painting adjacent to the soup one.

The man paused mid-slurp, his eyes staring to his right.

"No," he whispered, clutching the bowl to his chest.

The knight entered, waving his pink (pink?) sword in the air and bellowing, "HOW DARE YOU STEAL LADY ARIELLE'S SOUP? BEGONE BEAUTIFUL BEAST. JULIET JULIET WHERE ART THOU JULIET? TWAS THE MORNING BEFORE CHRISTMAS! THOU ART A BEDRAGGLED BOOGERFACE!"

The soup man took the opportunity to run away, knocking over a few gilded chairs in the process.

The knight finished his long speech with a final "TO THINE OWN SELF BE FALSE!" (Right, I'm _sure_ he'd gotten that one wrong. And the rest of them, now that Numberita thought of it; even _I_ knew that, and I barely payed attention in Muggle Studies) before flourishing his sword again and advancing towards the center of the painting.

He paused, realizing that soup-man had left (he had been gone already for 2 minutes and 12 seconds, actually). He stamped his foot, dropping the sword with a hollow clatter.

"Why does this always happen to me?" he moaned, collapsing on the ground with a dramatic "NOOOO!"

I glanced back at Potter; he looked every bit as stunned as I did. Right, I could see that he was going to be his usual _oh-so-helpful_ self.

Not.

"Maybe you should cut out that opening speech, yeah?" I suggested after 32.2 pathetic seconds of him rolling around on the floor.

He jumped upwards, clutching his heart and looking about wildly.

"Who said that?" he shouted, picking up his sword and waving it around vigorously; I winced. Seriously, he was more likely to poke his own eye out than hit anyone else. Trust me; I went through a lot of trial and error before perfecting my form with ol' Bessie.

"Over here," I said wearily. He glanced outwards, jumping backwards (Merlin, he was a jumpy one).

Although I suppose I would be startled to if I looked out and saw people approximately 10.2x larger than I was.

"I _need_ my opening speech though; it's the work of the great Shakespeare himself!" he whined, clutching at his face dramatically. "SHAKESPEARE IS GOD!"

Merlin, he was worse than the First Year (actually, _all_ of the years had some fangirls, now that I thought about it) girls who went about hugging posters of random blokes.

"Well, yeah, but you've gotten quite a few of those quotes wrong," I pointed out. He drew himself up, the silver plates of his chest armor just brushing the (pathetically sparse) bristles on his chin.

"I certainly have _not_," he said, thrusting his hooked nose upwards (nice try. You're still 10.2x smaller than I am).

"It's Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo," came a quiet voice from behind me. Merlin, _how_ Potter managed to say that and not come off as an insufferable know-it-all was beyond me.

The knight spluttered for 8.2 seconds before sheathing his sword and stalking away.

Silence.

I began walking, steadfastly ignoring Potter. After 3.2 seconds I became aware of his presence. He walked silently beside me; I chanced a glance at him, but he looked straight ahead.

"Why do you even care?" I asked, pausing as we rounded the corner leading to the Great Hall.

He stopped, running his hand through his dark hair.

"Because no one deserves to be used by James," he said finally, still not looking at me.

Wow, Potter was being surprisingly…sweet.

Numberita didn't like it. TOO MUCH CHANGE ARGH.

"Not even you," he added snidely, turning to face me.

Whew. Things were back to normal.

He smirked, eying me before adding, "Nice footsie pajamas" before pushing past the double doors and entering the Great Hall.

Wha-?

I looked down, the 67 smiley-faces all grinning back at me.

Fuck.

I checked my watch; breakfast wouldn't be over for another 73 minutes or so, but the bacon would be gone by then!

Dilemma.

Bacon or humiliation? Humiliation or bacon?

Bacon.

Gritting my teeth, I patted my hair (which resembled a desert bush) down into something that vaguely resembled human hair and pushed the doors open.

Thankfully, most people were still sleeping off the effects of the Gryffindor party last night, so only a few early-risers sat at the long tables lining the large hall. I glanced surreptitiously at the Slytherin table; Scorpius and Seth were currently passed out, their heads resting in what appeared to be oatmeal. Potter smirked at me, looking surprisingly alert; hadn't he gone to the party? Maybe he was just one of those…_early people_.

I hate mornings…and early-risers. I mean, what sane person would _want_ to get up at ungodly hours?

Oh, sod off. The only reason I'm up is because of Sir Archibald. IT'S ALL HIS FAULT. I AM AN UNWILLING PARTICIPANT IN THESE MORNING SHENANIGANS.

Hehe. Shenanigans. What a funny word…

I suddenly became aware of giggles. Right. Adela=standing in the Great Hall wearing smiley-face footsie pajamas. GAH THIS WAS LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A _NIGHTMARE_. Although the rainbow cherub was missing (that cherub always seemed to be in my nightmares…_every. Single. Time_).

I scurried to the Ravenclaw table, scooting to the part with the bacon platter. Some first year reached the bacon at the same time I did; I hissed (thank you, Sir Archibald!), snatching the bacon platter and hugging it. The firstie squeaked before running away to his gaggle of friends, each one occasionally peering at me.

Hah. That's right – respect your elders!

Note to self: buy a shirt that proclaims "RESPECT YOUR ELDERS" and wear it 24/7. Petition Hogwarts to make it the new uniform.

I munched happily, ignoring the wide-eyed stares I received (honestly, you'd think they'd never seen footsie pajamas before). Mm…bacon. I paused mid-chew as Numberita came up with another BRILLIANTLY BRILLIANT idea: bacon-scented perfume!

Numberita hummed happily, coming up with various ways to promote the ingenious product. Hehehe I AM BLOODY AWESOME.

"Adela Nicole Lancaster!"

Bugger. Wait. HOLY HIPPOGRIFF THE QUIDDITCH MATCH WAS TODAY.

…You know, I just realized that I mentally shout a lot. I'm just glad Numberita can't lose her voice…is that even possible? Note to self: research that/conduct experiments on various First Years to find out. Oh, stop looking at me like that – I _do_ pay them, you know! They get to spend time in my glorious presence.

Oh, sod off.

I steadfastly ignored Wood's shouting, instead focusing on stuffing as much bacon as I could in my mouth.

"Lancaster!"

Shoot. It was coming closer. I shoveled another piece in my mouth, sticking three more in the pocket of my pajamas (see! Do _your_ pajamas have pockets? I didn't think so!).

A warm hand dropped on my shoulder.

Sigh. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

I swiveled, moving so that I was facing him.

Wood glanced at the bacon strip I was currently clutching with my left hand and nodded briskly.

"Good, protein. Wait. PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAD PASTA YESTERDAY!" he shouted, grasping my shoulders.

Merlin, I'd forgotten how high-strung he got on match days.

You know, I don't think I actually had any pasta yesterday. I basically just had bacon.

"Bacon," I said, swallowing the last bit. He groaned, banging his head on his table.

Hmph. _I_ would never do that to Numberita.

After 12.3 seconds, Wood lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes glinting with newfound hope.

"Did you at least find out why Potter wasn't at practice? Was he practicing some secret maneuver?" he asked hoarsely.

I shook my head, frowning slightly as I remembered the whole debacle.

"Adelaaa!" he whined.

"Wait! He's over there. Go ask him!" he said, shoving me in the general direction (he was about 5.2˚ off, actually) of the Gryffindor table.

I really didn't want to face James; what if I started sobbing again? I looked back at Wood, but he motioned me forward.

I glanced at the Gryffindor table again, where James was currently eating some scrambled eggs. He leaned over his plate, laughing a bit with some girl before grasping her chin and drawing her in…

No. Please tell me he's not going to…

Catcalls resonated around the hall as James snogged her, his brown hair brushing her red locks.

My heart sunk; right, there goes the only decent bloke in this whole bloody school. Where else was I going to find a bloke that took the time to go out and look for my quills? He'd been the only one who had really _cared_ enough to listen to what I had to say. He was the only one who had accepted my obsession with quills without a snide remark.

I looked away, a sob catching itself in my throat.

Somehow, I found myself gazing at the Slytherin table. Potter looked at me, sympathy just barely showing in his small frown. Realization dawned on Numberita; _that's_ why Potter was so adamant about me staying away from James. James must have met up with that girl at the party last night…

Right, I wasn't going to stand here watching him snog the face off some girl any longer.

I had a Quidditch match to do. I set my mouth in a firm line, determination firing through me. Seeing my newfound resolve, Potter nodded and mouthed, "Beat them."

I returned the gesture before stalking out of the Great Hall, my head held high.

Oh, I would.

I was, after all, a beater.

Gryffindor wouldn't know what hit them.

**AN: Thanks for reading! **** REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! ;D**


	15. Oatmeal Is A Great Facial Moisturizer

**Oatmeal Is A Great Facial Moisturizer**

**Author Note: This is the first Quidditch match scene I've ever written! It involved a bit of googling for point values haha x] Enjoy! **

Three hours (and 21 seconds) after the "Adela-sees-James-Snogging-Some-Redhead-And-Decides-To-Crush-Gryffindor" incident, I found myself in the Ravenclaw Locker Rooms with the rest of the Quidditch team.

Wood looked at us solemnly, his arms slung on the shoulders of the Sane Scamander and Nico. We were all huddled in a circle (diameter around 3.1 feet), our arms slung over each other's shoulders.

"Right, team. This is what we've been waiting for. This is for the Cup. This is for our pride. We've been working _so_ hard-"

"You've got that right," came a mutter from Nico's direction. When he sensed our gaze, he whistled innocently, looking with a bit too much concentration at Wood.

Wood chose to ignore Nico, instead saying, "-we can definitely beat them. We just have to work hard and give it our freaking all. Rose – if you have to dive off your broom for the snitch, do it. Lorcan, Lysander, Chase – just fly your best, try and execute that Parkin's Pincer maneuver we practiced yesterday. Adela, Nico – keep hitting those Bludgers, maybe do a few Bludger Backbeats if you can."

We all nodded, our faces set with determination. We could dimly hear cheers from outside as the Gryffindor team soared into the pitch.

Wood looked slightly sick (well, it _was_ his first game as Quidditch Captain), but he shook his head and shoved his hand in the middle of the huddle.

"WHAT TEAM ARE WE?" he bellowed. We grinned, adding our hands to the pile.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"WHAT TEAM?"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"WHAT TEAM?"

"_RAVENCLAW!_"

And with that, we mounted our brooms and soared through the opening of the Ravenclaw locker room, our Quidditch uniforms billowing slightly in the wind.

The crowd roared, the right side of the bleachers teeming with royal blue and bronze banners while the left waved scarlet and gold flags. I smiled, my breath fogging over in the brisk autumn weather.

Game on.

I tilted my broom upward, hovering about 15 feet above the grass. Madame Hooch's signature spiked white-blonde hair appeared. Wood and Potter drifted only 3 feet from the ground, each one glaring at the other.

"Right, I want this to be a clean match," Hooch said, her voice magically amplified. I shifted my grip on ol' Bessie, eying the Gryffindor Beaters wearily. Fred Weasley grinned back cheekily, taking a quick practice swing with his own bat. I rolled my eyes but didn't return the gesture; what? Ol' Bessie and I are too dignified for that.

Oh, stop with the scoffing.

I eyed the familiar warm-red ball she held in between her right arm and her side. After James and Wood did the whole "pretend to shake hands courteously but really try to break the other person's fingers" ritual, Hooch brought her silver whistle to her lips. After a quick glance at the announcer, she nodded to herself before blowing.

_Tweet_!

The Quaffle soared into the air, all six Chasers racing for it. Wood sped towards our goal posts, his eyes already trained on the Gryffindor Chasers.

Right, I had work to do.

Where were the bludgers?

I scanned the Pitch, straining to make out the two dark-brown shapes. There! I spotted one speeding towards the Sane Scamander. I urged my broom forward, one hand tightly gripping ol' Bessie.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Nico's familiar shock of dirty blonde hair. We exchanged a look, wordlessly (didn't you know? All beaters have beater telepathy. It comes with the bat) conveying our thoughts.

I sped ahead of the beater, 32˚ to its left, placing my body in between the bludger and the Sane Scamander (note to self: find out what his name is. Eventually). I didn't have to even look to know that Nico would be on the right of the bludger.

"Dopplebeater Defence?" I shouted, the words snatched from my mouth by a particularly strong gust of wind. This was our signature move; we'd practiced it over and over again until we were able to hit the bludger at the exact same time (double the bats, double the force!).

"Now!" came Nico's answering call.

I swung, struggling to keep my eyes open (it's one of my bad habits) as ol' Bessie sped towards the bludger. On the other side, Nico's tan bat (it was nameless. Ha) did the same.

Our bats connected at the same time, causing the bludger to rebound quickly, its spherical form spiraling towards James.

Nico sped off in search of the other bludger and I spared a second (okay, it was more like 3.2 seconds) to follow the bludger's path. Almost there…James sped forward, oblivious to the bludger. He clutched the Quaffle, his face bent close to his broomstick.

_Whap_.

The backend of a broom slapped the bludger away, the frontend spinning upwards to reveal Fred Weasley's signature red hair. He grinned before wincing a bit, shaking his hands to relieve some of the vibrations. Hah. That's what you get when you try to stop the combined forces of Awesome Adela and the Slightly-Less-Awesome-But-Still-Awesome-Because-He's-In-Ravenclaw Nico!

Note to self: Shorten Nico's nickname.

I tore my gaze from Fred, scanning the Pitch again.

"AND POTTER SCORES FOR GRYFFINDOR!" came an all-too-familiar voice from the announcer's podium.

Okay, Hogwarts teacher are idiots.

Why on EARTH would they ever trust _Seth_ to be a Quidditch announcer?

I groaned inwardly, chancing a look at the podium. Seth was beaming and seemed to have completely forgotten the whole "head plopped in oatmeal" ordeal of this morning.

"Adela!" Nico called, smacking a bludger away before it hit me. "Pay attention!"

I shook my head vigorously, dispelling away any distracting thoughts.

Right. Focus.

I began circling the pitch again, zooming forward/backwards at times to hit a bludger away.

"Hawkshead!" Nico called.

"I see!" I replied, tailing our Chasers as they began the formation. Mr. Rowdy Chaser (nope, still hadn't learned his name) was approximately 4.5 inches ahead of the Scamanders, the Quaffle tucked firmly under his arm. The hair on my arms rose; a bludger was coming.

Without looking behind me, I swung ol' Bessie, just managing to connect with the bludger. I hit it at a relatively basic angle (straight back at the other beater, actually), unable to do anything complicated due to the bad angle.

I heard a muffled curse from Fred, followed by a dull _whack_.

"AND LITTLE LANCASTER MANAGES TO CATCH WEASLEY BY SURPRISE. THAT ONE WILL HURT TOMORROW!"

I smirked, knowing full well that Fred would be furious. I circled above our chasers, watching warily for any signs of trouble as they did their Chaser stuff.

"CHASE SCORES FOR RAVENCLAW!"

Chase? Oh. Mr. Rowdy.

I glanced quickly at the scoreboard currently hovering above the teachers' podium; 10 – 10.

Come on, Rose. You can do it.

Gah!

The other Gryffindor beater appeared suddenly, leering a bit at me. I scowled, keeping an eye out for any bludgers.

"I have to say, I loved your pajamas," she said snidely, twirling her bat a bit.

Ignore her, Adela.

"Did your _daddy_ get them for you?" she asked brightly, blinking innocently.

I saw red; how _dare_ she mention my father? I gripped my broomstick, my knuckles turning white with the strain.

She glanced behind me, her eyes flickering for 0.5 seconds before returning to their dull brown.

Wha-? She brought her arm back before swinging it forward, her fist careening towards my nose before stopping 1.2 inches away. I shrieked a bit, dipping down a few feet in my surprise.

She laughed before speeding forward 1.3 feet and hitting the bludger, shooting it directly at the Sane Scamander. Oh no; he had been just about to score, too! He staggered back, the Quaffle dropping from his grasp as the bludger sped away.

I had to hand it to her; as much as that was a dirty move, it was a brilliantly executed Transylvanian Tackle. The Gryffindors had been training.

I leaned forward, urging my broom forwards as I fought to catch up with the bludger. Almost…there…

My broom jerked forward, several sticks falling from the end. Come on, come on…

Gah! My head flew forward, slamming into the end of my broom as it bumped suddenly. My hand swung as I struggled to keep my balance, ol' Bessie just managing to wildly swipe at the bludger. Shoot.

I panted, clutching onto the broom with my knees as I watched the bludger with a sinking heart. It sped towards the bleachers, its new course having been determined (unfortunately) by my wild swing. The Gryffindor side shrieked, several of the girls in the front (who all sported brightly coloured "Go James!" or "Fred Fred He's Our Man!" posters) scattering, the posters dropping. As soon as the bludger came within 5 feet of the lowermost bleacher, however, it bounced back, careening against the invisible force field. Well, that was a foul.

_Tweet!_

"Ravenclaw Foul! Illegal bumphing!" came Hoot's steady voice.

"LITTLE LANCA-ERM, THE BRUNETTE BEATER WHOM I'M _DEFINITELY_ NOT RELATED TO MANAGES TO FOUL FOR RAVENCLAW! THAT'LL BE A PENALTY SHOT FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

I scowled in the general direction of the podium; git.

The Gryffindor chasers lined up, huddling together as they decided which one would go shoot. As if there was any doubt; yup, James soon broke from the group, sailing towards our goal posts with a determined look on his face.

Come on, Wood. You can do it!

I chanced occasional glances in his direction, but I kept circling; the Chasers might be temporarily paused, but Seekers and Beaters still had to do their jobs.

I caught a flash of curly red hair; Rose was circling the pitch, her mouth set in a frown as she scanned the pitch.

I glanced back at the goal posts just in time to catch Wood executing a particularly nice Starfish and Stick maneuver, his body dropping from his broom as his leg shot out to kick the Quaffle away. The crowd gasped, sighing in relief when he just managed to grab hold of his broom with his left hand. Wood smirked a bit in James's direction before swinging back onto his broom.

"AND WOOD MANAGES TO SAVE IT! POOR POTTER, HE MUST HAVE BEEN TOO BUSY DRINK-ER, _FROLICKING_ LAST NIGHT TO REST PROPERLY!" came Seth's jovial voice.

"MR. LANCASTER!" came McGonagall's prim voice (she had retired when I was in Second Year but still returned occasionally to watch some Quidditch matches).

I rolled my eyes, adjusting my grip on ol' Bessie.

"Not today, Potter!" Wood called out. James scowled before circling back to his fellow Chasers.

I shot forward, hitting a bludger away before it could hit Mr. Rowdy. The bludger spun away, the dark leather changing its course to head for James.

And _no_, I am not aiming at James in particular!

Any bludgers that hit him are merely coincidental.

So there.

Gah! A full head of curly red hair sped past me, the tail end of the broom zooming away as Rose dove.

"-AND FOLKS, THAT'S WHY OATMEAL IS A GREAT FACIAL MOISTU-OI! HAS-YES, WEASLEY'S SEEN THE SNITCH! OH, THE RAVENCLAW WEASLEY, YOU KNOW WHICH ONE I MEAN!"

Come on, Rose-eep! The Gryffindor Seeker sped past me, the back of his robes brushing against my broom (causing it to jump erratically around for a bit). Ha. He was 34.3 seconds behind Rose; in the Quidditch world, 34.3 seconds might as well be 34.3 _years_. A collective groan came from the Gryffindor stands (although I noticed the girls - and a few boys - holding the "MARRY ME" posters just looked confused) as they realized the same thing I had.

"AND WEASLEY-THE RED-HEADED ONE, MIND YO-OH. RIGHT. ERM. RAVENCLAW WEASLEY'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!"

"YES!" I shouted jovially, pumping my hand before grasping my broom again.

Come. On. Stupid. Broom. Behave. It bucked underneath me, jerking me every which way. I was all too aware of the rest of my mates diving down to tackle Rose and the Gryffindors following them downwards (albeit a bit slower). Soon everyone would notice my inability to keep this broom in check…

"DAMN YOU BROOM!" I bellowed, whacking it with ol' Bessie.

"WHAT'S THIS? A RAVENCLAW SEEMS TO BE WHACKING HER BROOM WITH…OH GOSH. IT'S THAT BEATER AGAIN – THE ONE THAT I'M CERTAINLY NOT RELATED TO AT ALL!"

"MR. LANCASTER!" came McGonagall's reprimand.

"FINE, BUT I SWEAR SHE'S ADOPTED! OR AT LEAST A CHANGELING!"

Git.

I would kill him…right after I got off this bloody broom.

"Is her broom cursed?" I heard a muffled whisper from Rose's direction. Right, she was new to the team; she didn't realize that my broom just _loved_ to do this to me. Especially if people were watching – heck, the more, the merrier, right?

Not.

I slammed the broom handle downwards, causing my body to flip over until I was hanging upside-down, only supported by the force my knees exerted on the handle.

Oof. Okay, so maybe eating all the bacon was a bad idea. I felt a tad sick, the grease starting to well up as my stomach gurgled unhappily.

"SOMEONE GET ME OFF THIS BLOODY BROOM!" I bellowed, the grass and worried faces blurring as the broom thrashed around. Ol' Bessie fell from my gasp, falling on some unsuspecting Gryffindor with a dull _thunk_.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," I heard a mutter and was vaguely aware of James shouting "Oi!"

Twenty seconds later, warm hands grasped me, lifting me onto another broom. I moaned, the world still spinning. I blearily made out an engraved handle inscribed with a curly "JSP." James.

Tears involuntarily sprang up in my eyes; first the quills, now this. Why did he torture me like this? I leaned back into his solid warmth. He tensed a bit but didn't say anything, instead dipping us closer to the ground.

The moment (okay, it was more like 3.2 seconds after, but who cares? How long is a "moment," anyway? Numberita is curious. Note to self: research that) my feet touched the soft grass of the pitch, black dots swam in front of my eyes. I collapsed, my head lolling on the damp ground.

Woo…

**An: I hope the match made sense! I have to say, it was quite fun to write! **** As always, please review!**


	16. The Gryffindor Cookie-Sampling Tea Party

**The Gryffindor Cookie-Sampling Tea Party**

** Author Note: Nothing much to say – thanks for reading! **

_Tickle. Tickle_.

I groaned, flexing my foot. The tickling stopped but was soon accompanied by hushed whispers.

"Hey! Did you see that?"

"Yeah! Do it again!"

The uncomfortable sensation returned as light fingers trailed across the bottoms of my bare feet.

I twitched, flopping over on the scratchy sheets and mumbling, "Geroff, Mum" into my pillow.

The tickling paused again.

"Did she just call me her _mum_?" came a disbelieving voice.

"Yeah, mate, better go check your gender again. Something you haven't been telling us?" came the jeering response. A dull _thump_ soon followed, a muffled scuffle soon joining.

"Oi!"

Whack.

"Watch it!"

Slap.

"Shut up!" a decidedly higher voice shrilled.

"Look, she's waking up!" it continued (at only a slightly lower tone).

Well, I certainly wasn't in the manor…I sat up, wincing a bit at the sudden movement.

"Right, who's gone and confunded me?" I asked hoarsely, bracing myself against the backboard of the cot. Oh, look. I was back in the infirmary; how _wonderful_.

As my eyes settled, I could barely make out the forms of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team still dressed in their Quidditch robes. Rose's face was uncomfortably close and she peered at me before grinning.

"She's awake!" she cried.

The team tackled me, each one jumping onto the cot with _way_ too much energy than a poor innocent victim could handle.

The poor innocent victim being me, of course.

Oh, stop laughing.

Wood looked up from his perch on my stomach (Merlin, blokes weigh a _lot_), a wide grin firmly set on his face.

"How's my little beater today?" he asked jovially, leaning over to ruffle my hair.

I scowled…

Wait. We'd won!

Why weren't they celebrating?

"Why aren't you guys celebrating in the Tower?" I asked curiously (albeit a bit quietly, as _someone_ was CUTTING OFF MY AIR FLOW).

Wood looked scandalized, sliding off of my body to crouch next to my face.

"How could we celebrate when a member of our team is in the _infirmary_?" he asked, genuine disbelief showing.

I flushed; I had no idea that I was worth that much to them. I looked away, my cheeks burning.

"Aw, our widdle beater weater is blushing wushing!" Mr. Rowdy teased, pushing Wood out of the way to peer at my face.

Right, time to scowl again.

Mum always said that I'd get wrinkles from scowling too much, but whatever.

I'm sure Sir Archibald won't mind. What? I have full plans of becoming a cat lady, seeing as the only decent bloke in existence has gone and called me his sister.

James…I stared down at the thin sheets covering my body, hot tears beginning to well up again.

"Right, you lot get out!" I heard Rose's brisk voice.

"Wha-?"

"_Out!_"

"Alright, woman! No need to go near that spot!"

_Thump_.

"Holy s-!" the rest of the retort was cut off suddenly.

I quickly swiped at my eyes, clearing them up just enough to see Mr. Rowdy twitching on the ground and clutching his, well…_goblin bits_.

What? I'm perfectly sure that's a scientific term for it! Goblinitusitus (the two "itus" are ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL) bitotis.

You can look it up if you'd like.

Although why you would, I have no idea. Numberita already said it and she's never wrong.

Rose's blurry form neared Mr. Rowdy and he flinched before scrambling up, waddling to the exit. Rose flicked her wand, causing the door to slam shut before she sat next to me.

"What's wrong? Don't worry, you've only been out for an hour or so." she asked quietly, handing me a lilac handkerchief (handkerchief! Who carries those around anymore?). I accepted it gratefully, lifting it to my nose and blowing.

_Baroomph_.

Right, I'm nothing if not ladylike.

Oh, shut it.

"Thanks," I said, clutching the handkerchief in my hand. She nodded, her brown eyes searching my face for any hints.

"It's just…James," I said. She looked as if she was about to say something, but stopped, closing her mouth and motioning for me to continue.

"I mean, I thought I was over him. And I think I _was_, honestly. But then the git had to go and rescue me from the Quidditch match and…Merlin, Rose. Do you think he knows how much he's torturing me? DOES HE BLOODY KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN I'M GOING THROUGH?"

Rose blinked, clearly trying to sort out my (slightly) crazed speech.

"Adela, it's natural to feel a bit off after something like that…you can't expect to get over him in only a _day_."

Well, it was actually a day, 12.5 hours, 32 minutes, and 15 seconds but I wasn't going to correct her; what? I'm a generous soul.

"Wait-Adela, did you say that _James_ rescued from your broom?" she said suddenly, her eyebrows furrowing.

I rolled my eyes; well, duh. Because he did; I'd seen the handle of the broom myself!

I explained this (absolutely sound) logic to her, but she merely shook her head.

"Adela, _Al_ went up to get you. The rest of us were too shocked to do anything, but Al came storming down from the bleachers and grabbed James's broom…although, now that I think about it, I remember him muttering something about 'incompetent fools' on the way down, so I dunno if that maybe lessens the act or something," she mused, her eyes drifting.

_Potter_ had rescued me?

GAH WHAT IS THIS CHANGE IN BEHAVIOR? NO. NUMBERITA DOES NOT LIKE IT.

"ARGH WHY DOESN'T POTTER JUST STAY IN HIS _BOX_?" I wailed, stuffing my face into the scratchy pillow.

"Huh?"

Eh, it was too much trouble to explain the whole "everyone has their unique box" concept to Rose. Time to change the subject! I certainly did not want to dwell on Potter.

"I saw James snogging some redhead earlier this morning," I blurted out, slapping my hand over my mouth as soon as the words left my traitorous lips. Seriously. If my lips were female humans, they'd be the people mum refers to as "the navy women." Or wait. Maybe it was a different colour…oh well. Moving on! What were we just talking abo-

Right. The whole "Adela starts talking about not only herself but also the bloke who just caused her so much pain!" conversation. Woo.

Not.

To my dismay, Rose didn't look surprised.

Seeing my disgruntled look, Rose shrugged before saying, "What? Potters go for redheads."

Wha-?

Oh, I suppose that _did_ seem to be true. First James (the elder) with Lily (the elder – Merlin, they've reused names a _lot_ in that family. I don't think the whole "reduce, reuse, recycle" thing applies with names…), then Harry with Ginny, now James (the younger) with that redheaded bi-bitterweed.

My gaze strayed to Rose's hair…she was a redhead but…

Following my gaze, Rose touched her hair, realization dawning on her.

"GAH EW HOW COULD YOU EVEN – NO JUST NO!" she yelled before flinging herself off the bed and running to the metal faucets lining the other side of the infirmary. I watched curiously as she yanked them on, shoving her face underneath the spout and proceeding to douse herself.

What aim she wanted to achieve with that, Merlin only knew.

A slight blubbering sound occurred as Rose drew her head out momentarily to shout in a deeply wounded voice that "That's like saying you and Seth are – ARGH!" before plunging her head back in.

Wait.

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS THAT WAS DISGUSTING. IT SHOULD BE AGAINST THE LAW TO EVEN _TALK _ABOUT – GAH GAH GAH GAH GAH.

I flung myself off the bed, mirroring Rose's actions and plunging my head underneath the adjacent sink (although I banged my head against the metal twice, while Rose didn't even injure herself. Hmph) and tried to wash the thoughts from Numberita.

A loud bang was heard (maybe the door opening), soon followed by a frantic "Girls!" as feet bustled over.

Well, only one person "bustles" on a regular basis; Pomfrey.

I felt myself being forcefully pulled from the faucet (NOOO), the back of my robes clutched under Pomfrey's iron grip.

"What in Merlin's name are you two _doing_?" she asked, taking in our soaked heads and red faces.

We glanced at each other before simultaneously shouting, "SHE DID IT!"

Pomfrey seemed to be fighting back a smile (oh, that's good news, right? She wouldn't take points away from Ravenclaw while _smiling_, would she? Unless she's sadistic – OH MERLIN WE NEEDED TO ALERT THE AUTHORITES. DANGER. ALERT. SADISTIC MEDICAL PERSON IN HOGWARTS. TAKES HAPPINESS IN STUDENTS' PAIN).

She reached into the pocket of her white linen apron (OH MY LORD MOLDYWART SHE'S DRAWING OUT A KNIFE OR SOMETHING), procuring two small, dark red vials.

I read the distinctive yellow label, my heart slowing a bit.

Oh. It was just Pepper-Up.

I took the vial sheepishly, moving to put it in my pocket.

It crashed to the floor, the thick liquid inside steaming a bit as it spilled on the linoleum floor. Right. I was still wearing my Quidditch robes, which had as little fabric as possible for maximum speed.

Pomfrey sighed heavily, retrieving her wand from the same pocket (Merlin, was it bottomless or something?) and cleaning up the shattered glass and potion with one swish.

"Out!" she ordered sternly, pointing towards the (only) exit at the other end of the room.

Right, time for my grand escape!

I walked quickly past her, my walk increasing to a run 32 steps in.

I burst through the double doors, the wooden structures slamming into the wall as I sped past.

I paused at the nearest stairwell, leaning on the banister to catch my breath. 28 seconds later Rose caught up. She bent over, her hands braced on her knees as she panted.

"What…on…earth…were…you…running…for?" she panted, each word struggling laboriously to be spoken.

I shrugged. "Exercise is nice."

She paused, eying me. "Right, you're a nutter."

I grinned; somehow, it didn't bother me when she said it – maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was smiling as she said it…or the fact that I didn't really want to hit my first friend in the first 24 hours if I could help it.

What can I say? I'm a generous person.

My stomach growled; food. Need. Food.

Hearing the noise, Rose groaned a bit before saying wearily, "Right, bacon?"

Hm…nah, I didn't really feel like bacon. OH STOP WITH THE EXAGGERATED GASPING. IT ISN'T THAT SHOCKING.

I shook my head; Rose blinked a bit, her mouth opening.

AM I KNOWN AS THE BACON GIRL OR SOMETHING? I DO ENJOY OTHER FORMS OF SUSTENANCE YOU KNOW.

"Alright…then what do you feel like?" she asked slowly, shoving her wand into the pocket of her robes.

Hm.

Shepherd's pie? Nah, too pie-y. Pumpkin juice? Tempting, but no – it reminded me too much of Potter. Choco-

CHOCOLATE.

"Chocolate!" I shouted brightly, the word echoing through the hallway.

"Hm, I don't think the kitchens really have any Honeydukes chocolate," she mused, leaning against the banister.

CHOCOLATE.

I began fidgeting, thoughts of luscious, creamy milk (no dark. Dark chocolate=bad. Dark chocolate=for losers like Potter…OH STOP JUDGING. It was in some article that I read…what? It's not my fault when the only magazine I can find is _Witch Weekly_!) chocolate melting on my tongue.

"Hey, I know that Fred usually hoards some! We can just go to the Gryffindor Common Room and ask for some," she suggested, her face brightening a bit.

YES. I could finally find out where the Common Room was! I bounced a bit, cackling gleefully.

Rose looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed; right. No cackling in public.

I quieted, coughing a bit before saying, "Right, let's go!"

She nodded slowly, still casting sidelong glances at me while we walked.

Eh. She probably just wanted to get a better image of THE AWESOME ADELA LANCASTER.

Seth always said I'm conceited. He's wrong; I just have a healthy reckoning of my own awesomeness.

There's a difference.

OH STOP WITH THE JUDGEMENT.

xxxxx

Mmm…I love chocolate – especially Honeyduke's chocolate; there's nothing better. Except bacon. And pumpkin juice. And snow.

Hm.

Not to self: organize "ADELA'S LIST OF AWESOME STUFF" in the Awesome Journal. I really needed to get around to doing that…

"Merlin, you eat a lot," came Fred's disbelieving observation. "How are you not as big as Great Aunt Muriel?"

Rose and I had traipsed to the Gryffindor Common Room (turns out I was right about the Fat Lady! MWAHAHA) and waited until some innocent First Year came along to open the portrait for us. We had found Fred sitting with his mates (James was thankfully absent) and ambushed him. Fun times, I tell you. Fun times.

Still chewing on the end of my caramel-apple flavoured chocolate bar, I reached into my wand and casually flicked it in his direction.

"Wha-GAH!"

The right side of my mouth quirked up 0.2 inches as I continued eating, not bothering to look in his direction; what? I knew my spells. Fred would be trying to fend off the thirteen chocolate bats I'd temporarily animated. And failing, by the sounds of it.

"R-Rose! HELP!"

I glanced at Rose; she looked bored, leaning against the scarlet couch situated in the center of the Common Room.

"Why, Fred? You should know better than to comment on a girl's weight. It's a wonder how Victoria is still putting up with you," she teased, tapping the end of her wand on her nose musingly.

I knew I put up with that girl for a reason.

Having finished my chocolate, I decided to see what Fred was doing; what? I wanted to check on my handiwork – it's perfectly normal!

Fred was currently running around the scarlet armchairs, using a small (about 6" by 6") golden pillow to try and fend the bats off. His housemates didn't seem to be doing anything (so much for Gryffindor loyalty), instead laughing and pointing at the famous Fred Weasley lowered to running away from chocolate bats.

"ROSEEE! I'LL LET YOU STOP AT THAT BOOK STORE AT HOGSMEADE!"

"Well, since you're my dear cousin," she said, her eyes glinting a bit, and waved her wand.

The bats dropped, the temporary animation having been terminated. I walked over, plucking one from Fred's hair and stuffing it in my bag for later.

"Don't forget! You promised we could stop at Tomes and Scrolls!" Rose said, giving Fred a stern glare.

He groaned, clutching at his freckled cheeks dramatically.

"Rosee, what will everyone say when I tell them we have to stop there instead of spending that extra time in Zonko's?" he whined, collapsing on the nearest couch (one inhabited by a group of giggling Second Years who tripped over themselves trying to edge closer to him – probably to steal a lock of his hair and sell it to _Witch Weekly_. Those Second Years were a resourceful bunch…I'd spotted a group of them attempting to clip a lock of Potter's hair the other day while he was drinking his pumpkin juice).

Rose rolled her eyes, shooing the Second Years off and plopping herself onto the couch. The Second Years looked quite disgruntled and moaned a bit before leaving, but not before shooting Rose some very nasty looks. Note to self: watch out for Second Years. Warn Rose.

"Tell them the truth – that you were too scared of little chocolate bats to do anything but beg your intelligent cousin to save you from the nasty wasty beasts!" she said, batting her eyes innocently. Fred frowned, opening his mouth to retort.

I sat quietly, watching the Wotter exchange from my perch on a small wooden chair. I'd forgotten that this Saturday was Halloween. The trip to Hogsmeade was this Saturday…I'd never really gone to Hogsmeade. I only went one time in First Year with Seth and his lot, but left after quickly getting the "Oi! You're not wanted here. Get your own friends" message. I'd lied to Seth and said something about needing to finish a Potions essay and he'd accepted the excuse all too readily. I love the guy, but – he seriously is clueless when it comes to feelings. Isn't he supposed to have some kind of twin telepathy of some sort? Argh, I just _knew_ he was defective.

Is there some sort of store where I can exchange him for a new one?

Just kidding.

Maybe.

Anyway, since then I'd mainly just hid in the back corner of the library while everyone else went to Hogsmeade, making my way through the books. I only visited Hogsmeade when I heard that a new quill had restocked at Scrivenshaft's.

"-la. ADELA!"

I blinked; wha-?

Fred Weasley's brown eyes peered into mine and he gave me an experimental shake. I scowled, reaching up to flick his nose.

He quickly scurried back to his place on the couch opposite mine, saying, "Merlin, thank goodness you're alive – I thought you'd gone and died or something!"

I rolled my eyes, not deeming his comment worthy of an Awesome Adela Comeback (I have a list of them written down in my Awesome Journal. Some of them are pretty good, if I do say so myself. Most of them involve house-elves of some sort – I've found that they make the best comebacks. I.e. someone says you're stupid. You say "YOUR HOUSE-ELF THINKS YOU'RE STUPID" and so on. I'm a bloody genius).

Satisfied that I wasn't going to pass out in his Common Room, Fred turned to Rose again.

"Right, so James is throwing a Halloween party. You should come."

Rose looked unsure, her hands playing with the hem of her blouse.

Fred swiveled 38˚ so that he faced me, saying, "You should come too, Adela."

I blinked. Um. I wasn't so sure that was such a good idea…the last event I'd gone to that even vaguely resembled a party was that sleepover in First Year. And we all know how _that_ turned out. Besides, I'd seen enough of my hung-over dorm-mates to see that parties lead to painful headaches and mean comments directed at innocent girls named Adela Lancaster. And Awesome Adela does not like pain. At all.

I'd just have to tell Fred that I didn't want to go. He was a nice source of chocolate, but that didn't mean I was going to go.

"I-"

"Will come? Brilliant!" he said quickly before standing up abruptly.

"Right, I just remembered that James is hosting a Quidditch prac-" he paused, understanding dawning on his face as he realized that both Rose and I were on the opposing Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Oopsie, Fred. I shot a discreet look at my watch; 1:31 PM. Note to self: Gryffindors practice at around 1:30 PM on Sundays. Hah. Probably trying to nurse their wounds after their CRIPPLING LOSS earlier this morning. Hehe. Sore winner? No way.

"ERM I MEAN COOKIE SAMPLING TEA PARTY, YES, THAT'S IT," he finished hurriedly, all but knocking over a couple of First years in his haste to leave.

I glanced at Rose, catching her eyes. She rolled hers, mouthing, "Wood?"

I nodded, my eyes glinting. "Wood."

It was time for the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team to go on a little field trip.

**AN: Thanks for reading! **** Please review! =D**


	17. Adela's Wand: The Amazing One

**Adela's Wand: The Amazing One**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! **** I've never written a duel scene, so this should be fun! **

Light streamed in through the large windows lining the left side of the classroom, pooling onto the (slightly dusty) wooden floors. Twelve dark oak tables lined the room, each one seating two students. Twenty-four thoroughly bored students inhabited twenty-four slightly precarious looking chairs. Seated at each table was one student sporting a royal blue and bronze striped tie and one student sporting an emerald and silver tie. One thoroughly uncomfortable Awesome Adela sat at the sixth table from the back, edging as far as she could from the person sitting next to her.

Stupid Professor Agrican with his stupid "inter-house unity" ideals. Did he stop and think about whether poor innocent girls (who just happened to be named Adela) _wanted_ to be sitting next to a Slytherin – namely, the one Slytherin she prayed (for three hours, mind you!) she wouldn't be sitting next to the second she heard he would be assigning seats?

Nope. Of course not.

THE FATES HATE ME. WHAT KIND OF KARMA IS THIS – DOESN'T THE FACT THAT I GAVE SOME OF MY BACON TO A FIRST YEAR THE OTHER DAY COUNT FOR _ANYTHING_?

"Stop moving your chair so much. It's annoying."

Apparently not.

I scowled, turning slightly in my chair to hiss, "Sod off."

No reply – just a soft, condescending chuckle.

Note to self: brush up on my List of Awesome Comebacks…and research ways to kill off black haired, green-eyed boys without seeming too guilty.

I looked steadfastly ahead, instead focusing on Agrican's thinning white hair and frail form. Merlin, he looked like he should be at home playing with grandchildren, not teaching classes full of moody teenagers. I suppose Headmaster Dominus had to find _some_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but was a man who looked like he had seen over a hundred years the best choice?

"-And, although I argued against this, Headmaster Dominus has made sure that we will be practicing duels today. Although I can't imagine why – if you just treat others the way you'd like to be treated, there would be world peace! No need for any viol-"

_And_ this is where I tune out. Honestly, I'm all for peace…but Agrican took it a bit too far. As in, he threw flowers around the classroom for "ambience" (ignoring the protests of some Slytherin who was allergic to pollen) and talked about S.P.E.W. (which was some organization Hermione started while in school to promote house elf welfare) when we were supposed to be learning about werewolves or something.

Oh, well. At least I was pretty decent at combat spells…I'd whined and kicked when I was younger (around nine or so) to be included in Seth's lessons. Father finally gave in when I started threatening to go to the Daily Prophet and tell them all about the "sexism present in Pure-blooded societies." What can I say? I was an intelligent child. You really can't expect anything less from the Awesome Adela.

Anyway, even after I was kicked out from the lessons (which, of course, coincided with the infamous Sorting) I still practiced in various abandoned classrooms while cradling various library books on the subject. Looking back, I suppose I dedicated all those hours to learning spells partly because I had a thirst for knowledge (which any decent Ravenclaw has), partly because I wanted to see the "pretty colours" (what? I WAS YOUNG OKAY) that came from particularly powerful combat spells, and partly because…well, I wanted to prepare in case I needed to run away. By the time I was in Second Year, things at home had gotten progressively worse…to the point that Father would lash out at me if I said anything wrong.

The thing is, everything was wrong. "Pass the salt, please"? Wrong. "May I be excused?" Wrong. "Hello, how are you?" Wrong. That Christmas was terrible…causing me to have a newfound vigor for learning combat spells. I had some sort of mental dream of living off the woods and being some kind of warrior princess (oh, stop judging).

Fortunately, I happened to run into Draco on my way out of the Manor and he stopped me. It turned out he'd also had a less-than-ideal childhood with his father and he stepped in to talk to Father. After that, Father grudgingly accepted me. He'd still lash out occasionally, but he mostly just ignored my presence.

In his mind, he only had one child. Adela Lancaster, the girl he used to take on field trips to look at quills and bargain with, no longer existed.

Numberita shifted back to the events of yesterday - Rose and I had scampered back to Wood and told him about the Gryffindor Practice. He held an emergency meeting (conveniently located right outside the Pitch - hehe) and we managed to catch a glimpse of James practicing a new maneuver before getting kicked out by the Nasty Keeper (at which Wood flushed a bit). All in all, it was a nice team bonding moment...

"-LANCASTER!"

I blinked, staring into Potter's disarmingly green eyes (seriously. Those eyes are bloody unfair). Seeing that I'd snapped out of my thoughts, he shook his head, rolling his eyes and releasing my shoulders.

"Come on, Agrican's looking over here," he muttered, motioning for me to follow him. Wha-?

I looked around, observing that everyone else was gathered at the large, empty space at the back of the spacious room. Oh. Right. Agrican was talking about some practice duels. Well, the good thing about having friends was that I no longer had to stand around awkwardly until I was finally paired up with someone by the professor!

I stood up, moving to go near Rose.

"Hey, Rose!" I said brightly.

She smiled, a confused look on her face.

"Hi, Adela, why are-oh."

Oh? WHY "OH"? THAT WAS NOT A GOOD SOUNDING OH.

"Adela, Agrican's told us to pair up with the person we're sitting with. The whole 'inter-house unity' rubbish he's been going on about," she whispered, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the rather-sullen looking Slytherin standing 7.2 inches from her (I noticed Scorpius glaring at him from his position next to a giddy-looking Ravenclaw girl).

"Oh."

"Sorry," she said, her face taking on an anguished quality.

I smiled brightly, quickly covering up my disappointment.

"Hey, it's fine! I'll just go back to…him," I said before backtracking quickly to Potter.

"If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to be paired up with Scorpius or Seth," he said, his voice uncomfortably close to my ear.

I jumped, my arms flailing a bit.

"Merlin, are you always this jumpy?" he asked.

"Sod off."

"You say that a lot."

"Sod off."

"Huh, the Ravenclaw can't come up with any original comebacks."

"Prick."

"Lame."

"Git."

He shrugged, smirking a bit before moving to stand on the white line 3.2 feet away from me.

"Right, I need to get a good grade in this class. So, move on!"

Git.

I scowled before moving to the parallel line 9 feet away, each step echoing eerily.

I shrugged off the heavy black robes that were standard Hogwarts uniform, revealing the white blouse and dark jeans I wore underneath. I slipped my wand from the pocket of the robes before kicking them 3.2 feet away, running my fingers over its wooden length.

Breathe, Adela.

From what I'd heard, Potter was a good duelist. Seth told me he wanted to be an Auror…so he had to be talented.

Against my will, butterflies flourished in my stomach, starting their nervous ritual of "try to get Adela to hurl as soon as possible!"

"Alright, students, remember – only magical means and no fatal wounds!" came Agrican's magically amplified voice. I glanced around; pair after pair of students were lined up on the various platforms scattered across the room, some looking quite stricken while others determined.

There was a lot of controversy about the logistics of keeping this course after Voldemort and the Death Eaters were defeated. Some argued that they wanted their children to know a world of peace, a world where they didn't need to know any combat spells at all. Of course, logic won out when Harry Potter himself pointed out that while there was good, there would always be evil. For us, the generation after the war, the generation that had never had to see their loved ones murdered before their eyes…this class is a way to prove ourselves. A way to at least attempt to understand the terror our parents faced. A way to prepare ourselves.

"Bow."

I bent at the waist, my eyes staring at the pockmarked floor before traveling back upward to meet Potter's.

His smirk was gone, replaced by a determined line.

"Go."

I whipped my wand in a diagonal slash, shouting, "_Petrificus Totalus_!" The air blurred as a wall of magic speeded towards Potter. Without breaking eye contact, he slashed his wand, slicing through the wall without a word.

Well. Looks like Potter had been studying ahead of the book.

I could admire that.

He twisted his wand in a complicated-looking figure eight before thrusting it forward, an emerald snake appearing from the end of his wand. It hissed, its mouth opening to reveal glistening fangs and a slender forked tongue.

Of course, this all happened without a word. I had to hand it to him; I knew from experience that _Serpensortia_ was a particularly difficult spell to conjure silently.

Well, two could play at this game.

I waited until the snake advance 2 cm before whipping my wand in a circle, vanishing the snake in a puff of silver smoke.

I glanced at Potter, panting slightly at the effort of casting a spell silently. He looked slightly surprised, his eyebrows raised 0.2 cm. He smiled, nodding before flinging his arm to the right suddenly, his black shirt blurring at the sudden movement.

A dart of purple sparks sped towards me at a rate of approximately 102 miles per hour. There was no time to cast a counter-spell; I dove to the side, my knees scraping painfully against the floor. I heard a muffled _boom_ as the dart exploded against the brick wall behind me.

I scrambled to my feet, lunging forward to cast a quick _Incarcerous_. Thick white ropes sprang from the end of my wand, springing towards Potter. His brow furrowed with concentration, he slashed his wand in a diagonal direction, cutting through the ropes just before they encircled him.

Bugger. He was good.

Almost as soon as he destroyed my spell, Potter was at it again. He twisted to the side to avoid the quick stunning spell I'd shot and flicked his wand over his shoulder, sending dark green sparks at me.

_Rictusempra_? Really? Did Potter _want_ to see me laughing uncontrollably? Because that wasn't a pretty sight. The last time I'd laughed like that (I think I was five), I was rendered immobile for _hours_, just giggling to myself as trails of snot dripped down. I was an attractive child, what can I say?

I dropped to the floor, the sparks brushing the top of my hair as I clutched at the ground. As soon as I felt the spell had passed (thank you, Beater instincts), I jumped to my feet, my chest heaving a bit as I tried to catch my breath. No time to think. Just act.

I ran forward, ducking into a quick somersault before whirling around and whipping a quick slug-vomiting charm in Potter's direction. He rolled to the side, barely managing to dodge it. Ha. Take that. Note to self: name this wand "THE AMAZING ONE" if I get out of this duel unharmed.

I spun forward, jabbing my wand in a quick successive motion to unleash a series of gold and green flames. The flames darted towards Potter, some aiming for his face while others dove for his hands. He scowled, his hands moving almost too fast to follow as his wand dispelled the green flames. The gold flames still shot towards his face, causing Potter to spring to the right before diving forward, the flames slamming into the wall behind him.

I eyed him warily, my fingers tightening on my wand. He stood a scant 2 inches away, his chest moving a bit as he tried to catch his breath.

Hazel eyes never left green. Huh. From this distance, I could just make out gold flecks scattered across his irises.

"Give up," he breathed, the invigorating scent of fresh snow and pine trees washing over me.

"Never."

He smiled at that, moving forward an inch, his eyes never leaving mine. Wha-? What in Merlin's name was he _doing_?

His eyes sparkled, the gold flecks seeming to swirl a bit…they were so bloody distract-wait.

My eyes widening, I ducked just in time to dodge the onslaught of dark red sparks as they went speeding past me.

The prat had distracted me on purpose!

Wait. Did I smell burning…?

I reached upwards, tentatively patting at my hair.

The git had burned my hair! I scowled, scrambling to my feet and lifting my wand to aim at his face.

"AVIS OPPUGNO!" I bellowed, not bothering to be silent. A flock of angry-looking sparrows appeared and began dive-bombing Potter. He yelped, bringing up his left arm to shield his face and his right to vanish them.

I ran towards him, my feet pounding against the wooden floor, and slid to the right, flinging my arm upwards at the last second to cast a silent _Stupefy_.

Sensing my movement, Potter flung himself to the left, dropping to the ground with a painful sounding _thump_. 3 seconds later he was up again, his arm moving to whip out yet another spell.

I panted, each breath struggling laboriously to make its way from my lungs to my mouth. Stray hairs puffed out from my ponytail, the roots singed black from the previous spell.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Wait for it…wait for it…now! His arm whipped forward as I shouted "_Protego!_"

The solid wall of blue fire rebounded off the translucent bubble I'd conjured, bouncing back in Potter's direction. The bubble shattered, the pieces moving to cut at me painfully. I winced, ignoring the pain to watch the fire. Potter grimaced, his arm moving quickly to trace intricate patterns as the flames began to lick at his clothes.

Just as the fire began to hungrily eat at his shirt, they were dispelled.

Silence.

I suddenly became all too aware that the echoing shouts of the other matches were gone; the only sounds were that of my (and Potter's) panting.

"Well, I hate violence, but…that was brilliant!" Agrican said suddenly. I paused, lowering my wand as my head whipped towards his direction. Professor Agrican stood surrounded by my fellow Sixth Years…how long had they been watching us? I shot a discreet glance at Potter, but he looked as surprised as I did.

Agrican turned to the class, saying, "You'd all do well to learn from them."

Some of the students scowled (mostly Ravenclaws – we never like being told that we need to learn from a fellow student), turning away to gather up their books. Was it the end of class already? I shot a look down at my watch; class had been over for 2 minutes and 22 seconds. Which meant that…Potter and I had been dueling for 48 minutes and 58 seconds. I felt slightly faint, suddenly aware of the various cuts lining my body.

I caught Rose's eye; she looked a bit shocked, her gaze darting from Potter to me then back to Potter.

"Twenty Galleons says they're shagging on the side," came a low drawl from Rose's partner.

Did he just say what I thought he said? Merlin, me and Potter? NO WAY. NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS.

Ahem. See Exhibit One: THE FIRST YEAR INCIDENT.

I spotted a brief flash of golden blonde hair as Seth barreled through and smacked him.

"Oi!" the sullen one said, rubbing at his shoulder.

Seth glared before spitting out, "She's my sister. Don't talk about her that way."

The bloke scowled, muttering something about "sexual tension" (PSH THAT WAS SO FUNNY HAHAHAHAHAHA).

I rolled my eyes before wincing again, eying the rather long (3.2 inches) cut that was currently smarting on my left forearm.

The class slowly filed out, Rose pausing to shoot me a questioning look that clearly said that she was going to interrogate me later before practically getting dragged out by Scorpius.

I stood there, kicking at the floor a bit before beginning to walk towards the desk. I shoved my textbook in my bag silently, steadfastly avoiding Potter's eye.

"You're better than I expected," he said suddenly.

I ignored him, stuffing the last bit of parchment into my worn bag.

"Lanca-you're hurt," he said, catching hold of my arm.

No, really.

I opened my mouth to utter Witty Comeback Number 12 (from my Awesome Journal, of course), but Potter shushed (shushed! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?) me, instead running his wand 1.2 inches above my skin. Pale blue-white light came from his light, flooding my arm with a wonderfully cooling sensation. Hot pricks of pain were drawn out as the skin knitted together.

I stared at my arms, flexing them experimentally before gazing at Potter in wonder.

"Where-?"

"I want to be an auror," he said. I nodded; right, Seth had told me that. You needed to be quite skilled at both healing and combat spells…

I wonder why he wanted to be an auror; I'm sure he could be anything…I disliked the bloke, but even I couldn't say that he had poor grades (the stupid prat had beaten me more times than I would like to mention in Potions and Transfiguration…although I'd always beaten him in arithmancy. HA TAKE THAT POTTER…nope, not immature at all). Why choose to be an auror when it seemed like there was no use for one?

"Miss Lancaster, Mr. Potter!"

Agrican's trembling voice broke through my thoughts.

"Would you mind coming here?"

Huh?

I shouldered my bag, nearing the desk cautiously.

"I have something to propose."

**AN: Thanks for reading! I loved writing the duel scene. :) **** Please review!**


	18. Trolls in Hot Pink Tutus

**Trolls in Hot Pink Tutus**

** Author Note: Oh gosh. I was floored by the reviews! Thank you so so so much for reviewing/reading - I seriously was beaming like an idiot for quite some time haha :) I was so nervous about publishing this chapter...you'll see why when you read the ending ;P Also: special thank you to my new beta, LovinMaya! Without her, this chapter would be riddled with mistakes! xD **

"A _dueling club_?" I repeated for the third time. Professor Agrican rubbed at his temples, sighing heavily.

"_Yes_, Ms. Lancaster – I want you and Mr. Potter to head a dueling club. Maybe Dominus will finally get off my back about being too 'hippie like.'" the last bit was muttered under his breath, but Potter and I both heard it perfectly fine.

I glanced at Potter, expecting to see my outrage mirrored on his face – after all, this would mean having to spend unnecessary hours together organising/doing whatever duel clubs did. To my surprise, he merely looked thoughtful, his lips pursing a bit.

"Mr. Potter, I'll make sure to put in a good word for you at the Ministry for this. And Ms. Lancaster, I will do the same for whatever career you're going into," Agrican offered.

Huh. Honestly, I had no idea what I wanted to do when I got out of Hogwarts. I had limited funds (selling old antiques could only get you so far), so I wasn't sure if I could afford the funds to go any specialty university…but somehow I didn't think I would make a great Healer anyway (too "fixated on tackling people," according to the therapist mum got for me when I was ten). But…regardless of my career, having this recommendation would look fantastic on any resumé.

Merlin. I'm sixteen years old and already thinking about jobs. THIS IS WHAT LIFE DOES TO YOU PEOPLE.

"I'll do it." Potter said firmly, his jaw set. Right, he wanted to be an Auror – a recommendation from a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor would help him immensely with getting into an Auror Training Program (which were infamously picky…and as hard as it was to get in, it was harder to stay in). Agrican smiled, turning to me.

"And you, Ms. Lancaster…?"

Potter turned to face me as well, his eyes pleading a bit.

Stupid blokes with their stupid green eyes.

"Fine."

Potter grinned – not a smirk, but a genuine smile. Whoa. I was a bit taken aback with how…oh, I don't know…un-Potter looking his face looked. He had a nice smi-HORRIBLE SMILE I TELL YOU. EW.

"Fantastic! Now I'll leave you two to it! I was thinking maybe a meeting once a week…Dominus will want to check in about once a month to see your progress. Ha, can't wait to tell Dominus! Maybe he'll finally give me back my peace posters…" Agrican mused, clapping his wrinkled hands together with more force than I thought possible for such an elderly man.

I shuddered; in the first month of the term Agrican had posters of giant, deformed peace signs and slightly suspicious looking men in rainbow clothes dancing about plastered on every square inch of the room. They were finally taken down when some third years complained about "emotional scarring" and "not being able to fall asleep for fear of rainbow men murdering them in their sleep."

He glanced up, seeming surprised to see us still standing there.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on! I expect to see some lesson plans by next Tuesday," he said, shooing us away.

I glanced at Potter again; I didn't know about him, but I had no idea what a duel club was.

"What should we be doing as heads?" I asked, ignoring his (quite rude, if you ask me) motions.

Agrican sighed wearily (the nerve! HE'S A BLOODY TEACHER. HE SHOULD BE _HAPPY_ TO ANSWER QUESTIONS) before answering, "I don't know! Just go about training students in violent combat spells so they can go off and kill people…that's all Dominus wants, the idiot. Er-don't tell him I said that, will you?"

I rolled my eyes before nodding my consent.

"Anyway, Dominus has been complaining that the Board has been getting on his case about the 'less-than-satisfactory' Defence Against the Dark Arts Program. Something about none of the recent graduates being accepted into an Auror Training Program…anyway, the point is – we need a duel club. Students are scoring way too low on their NEWTS…although I can't imagine why, I'm a bloody brilliant teacher," he said.

He stared at us for 12.2 seconds before clearing his throat.

Huh?

"I _said_, I'm a bloody brilliant teacher," he repeated, gazing at us with disconcertingly milky-blue eyes.

Oh! Numberita caught up.

"Right, sir," I mustered up weakly.

"Well, off with you!"

I shouldered my bag, turning to leave the classroom. I glanced at my watch; I still had 34 minutes and 49 seconds until lunch would be served. Hm, maybe I could head to the library and finish that Potions essay Slughorn assigned…it wasn't due for another week, but I didn't really have anything else to do; Rose was probably off with Scorpius (hopefully making up – I had to say, I was seriously shipping them by now…if only to stop all the angst) and I didn't have anyone else to talk to.

I made to turn right, my shoe just managing to touch the marble floor before a hand touched my shoulder.

Sigh. So close, yet so far.

I turned around slowly, meeting Potter's eyes…and quickly looking away (what? THOSE EYES ARE DANGEROUS. THEY BEFUDDLE NUMBERITA).

"What, Potter?" I asked wearily, making sure to inject as much exasperation as possible into those two words (I'd gotten quite good at it, too, what with Seth existing as target practice and all).

"We should probably get a head start on organising this," he said.

Blargh.

He was probably right – I had no idea where to start with this (how would we even get member-actually, that part would be easy. Just make posters saying, "SPEND AN HOUR WITH ALBUS POTTER!" and we'd have more members than we would be able to keep track of).

"Alright."

He looked a bit surprised at my response – the prick had probably expected me to argue/whack him with ol' Bessie. Which was tempting (I wouldn't deny it), but I wanted this to work out. What? I'm a Ravenclaw – as much as we thirst for knowledge, we also want to bestow our intellectual gifts upon others; in fact, many of the professors here at Hogwarts are former Ravenclaws.

"Right, the library, then?"

I nodded; the Slytherin dungeons were just plain creepy and the Ravenclaw Tower was full of all-too-curious (as in, downright nosy – it comes with the whole "need for knowledge" thing) people. The library was on the third floor (meaning yet MORE stairs to climb) and was guarded by the infamous Madam Pince, but at least it was sort of quiet.

Well, I guess the noise level really depended on whether or not some third year found out that Potter would be in there.

Honestly, the whole "related to the BLOODY SAVIOR OF OUR WIZARDING WORLD OMGZZZ" thing must be such a nuisance. Add that to the "named after dead people that you can never live up to" thing and it was a miracle Potter hadn't turned out mentally unstable.

…Actually, the jury was still out on that.

I eyed Potter's back as he walked in front of me (can he walk beside me? _No_, obviously that would be way too much for his precious Potterness…oh, that's a good one! Note to self: write that one down in the Awesome Journal).

Oh, Merlin – we'd arrived at the staircase of doom.

I looked upwards; the stairs (forty-two of them in all) led upwards, occasionally shifting courses as they sensed students approaching.

Potter had already begun climbing them and was already eight steps ahead.

Alright, Adela. You can do this. I took a deep breath before lifting my leg, placing my foot onto the swirled marble stair.

One down, forty-one to go.

xxxxx

GAH I CAN'T DO THIS.

I'd only made it to the twentieth stair before collapsing, clutching at the stone banister as I lay on the stair. Merlin, I'm pathetic.

I glanced upwards, wincing at the physical exertion needed to lift my chin (what? STAIRS ARE TIRING OKAY). I could barely make out Potter's dark shirt…judging by the distortion and laws of perception, Numberita hypothesized that he was approximately twenty stairs ahead.

He paused at the foot of stairs, glancing backwards.

"_Lancaster_?"

I moaned, dropping my head onto the floor.

Great, now he would use this against me. MERLIN HE WOULDN'T TELL WOOD, WOULD HE?

Hehe. Wood…would…ha…

SNAP OUT OF IT AWESOME ADELA.

I was vaguely aware of footsteps as Potter came running downwards, his steps echoing across the (thankfully – no need for more witnesses of this pathetic display) empty corridor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice slightly tinged with worry.

"Do I bloody look like I'm alright?" I snapped from my position on the floor.

He laughed softly, moving to lift me up. GAH. WHAT WAS HAPPENING? I found myself lifting upwards, his left arm under my back and his right supporting the area under my knees (more surface area more support!) as I was pushed against his chest. My bag was pinned between our arms.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT. HARASSMENT! HARASSMENT! TWEET! TWEET! I WILL MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEE-"

"Merlin, you're awfully loud. I'm trying to _help_ you, seeing as you can't even walk up three flights of stairs," he said, rolling his eyes and taking a step upwards.

Well.

_Someone_ was going to get the absolute pleasure of an angry Sir Archibald in his bed later today (I'd just have to bribe Seth with some Bertie Botts or something). I cackled softly, picturing Sir Archibald scratching Potter for once and not me.

"You're a nutter."

I scowled; right, I had to work on not cackling. I stayed quiet, watching the windows slowly pass as Potter made his way upstairs.

Merlin, he was slow.

"MUSH! MUSH!" I bellowed, beginning to enjoy myself. What? This method meant no physical exertion necessary on my part! Note to self: bribe/blackmail/threaten someone to carry me around. All the time. Hehehe.

Potter paused. Oi! I didn't tell him he could stop!

I glanced upwards, meeting his narrowed eyes. Oh, looks like Potter-Wotter was annoyed. Oops.

"I'm not a bloody _sleigh dog_, Lancaster," he said.

"Mush," I replied.

He groaned, muttering rather nasty words (which I will not repeat here, seeing as I am a FABULOUS LADY and all that) under his breath before continuing our ascent.

Eight stairs to go! A queer sense of déjà vu came over me as I recalled the whole Quidditch incident – Potter's arms _did_ feel just like the arms that had encircled me when the person rescued me…maybe Rose was right.

I didn't like it.

I was just glad this stairway was empty – Merlin only knows what his fan club would do to me if they saw Potter carrying me this way (which was admittedly nice…what? Every girl fosters some dream of getting carried like this! It was just my luck that it was _Potter_ doing it…oh well. I could just tape a poster of some random bloke on his face later); the last girl who Potter borrowed a quill from ended up in the infirmary for a _week_. Note to self: imprison Potter in the dungeons – he endangers everyone just by _talking_ to them, for Merlin's sake! HE IS A MENACE TO SOCIETY.

Although he did make a good sleigh dog.

"Mush!"

"LANCASTER."

I quieted for 34.8 seconds, watching as Potter climbed the second-to-last stair.

"Mush," I whispered, kicking my feet out 8.2 cm.

Potter dumped me unceremoniously on the top stair, rubbing his arms a bit (oi! I DO NOT WEIGH THAT MUC-er, scratch that…I DO NOT WEIGH MORE THAN THE AVERAGE BACON-LOVER!).

"Can you manage the walk to the library, Lancaster dearest?" he asked snidely, sneering a bit. I huffed, getting to my feet.

"Only if you think you can, Potter-Wotter," I simpered, batting my eyes.

Ha. Two could play at that game.

He scowled, shooting me the finger (oh, the Potters have raised _such_ a classy son – they must be so proud!) before beginning to walk again (there were still about 191 steps to go until the library).

I jogged for 12.2 seconds to catch up with him before slowing down to a normal pace. I rummaged around in my bag, my arms swallowed up by the worn, dark brown fabric.

Where was my quill? My fingers brushed against ol' Bessie's comfortably hard shape (back-up in case Potter decides to be…well, _Potter-like_) before moving on in search of the golden quill's uniquely supple texture.

It was odd – solid gold wasn't naturally the hardest of solids (only a 2.5 on the Moh's Scale of Mineral Hardness), but this quill was even softer, the feathers feeling like actual…well, feathers.

Gah! My right index finger was pricked, a dart of pain shooting through the nerve. Yup, I'd found it. I grasped it carefully, making sure not to damage any of the feathers, and lifted it out of my bag, a triumphant smile on my face.

Potter eyed me curiously, his gaze shooting to the golden quill I now clutched in my right hand.

"Did your father give that to you?" he asked softly, pausing in front of the library's gilded doors.

I shot him a surprised look; I'd forgotten that I had told him about the quills.

"Yeah, he did," I said shortly, pushing roughly past the doors.

I paused, inhaling the comforting scent of old books and parchment as the library's soft light washed over me. Madam Pince glanced at me before looking back down at her book, well familiar with my presence.

I strode to a secluded section of the library, dumping my bag onto the end of an oak table situated underneath a rather large window overlooking the lake.

I sat down, Potter mirroring my actions.

We stared at each other for 12.3 awkward seconds; what to do now?

"Right, I suppose we should start by talking about how to recruit people," I said finally, rummaging through my bag to retrieve a spare roll of parchment.

He nodded, leaning forward to watch as I titled the roll "AWESOME ADELA'S STRATEGIES FOR RECRUITING PEOPLE."

Alright, I could feel his judgment from here. I scowled, adding a small carrot next to "AWESOME ADELA" and adding "and Potter" in smaller writing.

He rolled his eyes before opening his mouth, "I suppose we should start by making posters."

I nodded, writing down "MAKE AWESOME POSTERS" next to the first bullet point. I faced him, eying him thoughtfully. His dark eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on his clear green eyes.

"What?"

I nodded to myself, not bothering to answer his question. I bent forward again, dipping my quill in the murky ink before carefully writing "ADVERTISE FREE HOUR WITH ALBUS POTTER." He'd have to deal with the fangirls – after all, this was for the greater good. I nodded again, leaning back to better observe my handiwork.

"_What?_ No!" Potter shouted, a horrified expression on his face.

"Shh!" Madam Pince stood, her hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face.

"You heard her – shut up, Potter!" I hissed. He scowled, taking out his wand and vanishing the second bullet point.

I began to protest, but his scowl deepened.

"No fangirls," he said firmly, his eyes darkened to a deep olive green. NO STOP – LOOK AWAY ADELA!

I tore my eyes from his, focusing instead on the yellowed parchment on the table.

"What do you suggest then, Potter?" I asked snidely, tapping the quill on the glass ink well.

"Maybe incentives for joining?" he suggested.

THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID. I raised an eyebrow, saying, "Exactly! They get to see you." Wait no. Shoot that came out wrong.

He smirked, preening a bit (prat).

"As much as I know I _am_ a gift to society, that can't be it," he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile.

I scowled, glaring at the parchment. Wait. Food!

"We could offer chocolate!" I suggested brightly. He frowned, rubbing at his chin absent-mindedly.

"Then we'll just get people who want food. The second they get it they'll leave," he pointed out.

Sigh.

Silence.

After a minute (a full 60 seconds!) of silence, he spoke up, "Maybe we should just stick with posters for now."

I nodded gratefully, relieved that the silence was broken (I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE LONG SILENCES). I drew a dark line across the paper (180˚ angle) before writing another heading: "AWESOME LESSON PLAN DAY 1."

I paused. We had no plans at all, no logistics, not even a _day_ of the week to meet, for Merlin's sake! Numberita hated this; she needed specifics!

"Where/when/how should we meet?" I asked, setting the quill down. Potter leaned forward, resting his head on his hands as his elbows propped them up.

"Well, my dad told me about something similar that he had…Dumbledore's Army," he began, staring off into space. I nodded; we'd learned about that in History of Magic during Second Year.

"He told me they met in the Room of Requirement at least once a week…Aunt Hermione came up with some enchanted Galleons to notify members of a meeting. Maybe we could do something similar," he mused, tapping his chin with one long index finger.

Room of Requirement? What in Merlin's name _was_ that?

"What in the bloody hell is a room of requirement?"

He whipped his head around (well, that bloke's going to suffer from whiplash if he continues to do that), his eyes wide.

"You don't know what the Room of Requirement is?" he asked incredulously, his eyebrows raised. I flushed; git. He didn't have to be so shocked; I didn't know _everything_, despite common belief (oh, shut it. I can see that scoff).

"Obviously not," I snapped, tracing meaningless swirls onto the parchment.

"Right, sorry. It's a room on the seventh floor in the left corridor…it's near that weird tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, you know – the one with the trolls in pink tutus."

I shuddered, disturbing mental images warty trolls in way-too-small hot pink skirts flooding Numberita; see, YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF HOGWARTS'S DESPERATE NEED OF AN INTERIOR DESIGNER.

"If you pass by it and concentrate on what you need, the Room will appear and accommodate your needs," he finished, leaning back into his chair. I furrowed my eyebrows; Numberita hadn't seen it on James's map.

"Why isn't it on the Map?" I asked curiously. Potter stiffened, his hands clenching.

"James showed you the Map?" he asked slowly, his teeth gritting.

I nodded, eying him warily; was he going to explode or something? I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE CONVICTED OF WRONGFUL MURDER.

"Of course he did," he said bitterly. "He wouldn't even show it to me…I only found out about it because of Dad. Yet the first girl who comes up gets to see it," he scoffed, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

Well. I wasn't just some "girl." I WAS AWESOME ADELA. Besides, James had made it perfectly (and painfully) clear that he didn't see me as an actual girl. Just a "sister."

Sensing my anger, Potter turned to me, saying, "I didn't mean it like that."

Huh. Second time he's apologized in twenty minutes. WHO WAS HE AND WHAT HAD HE DONE TO POTTER?!

I shrugged, brushing off my annoyance. Whatever. I'd get him later with Sir Archibald. Besides, we needed to sort this whole duel club thing out in the next…I glanced at my watch…12 minutes and 39 seconds.

I pushed the parchment closer to us, bending over it to write down, "Room of Requirement." Potter leaned closer, his head bent to survey the parchment. I cast a surreptitious (just call me Awesome Adela the Awesome Ninja) glance to my right; his dark hair was approximately 3.4 inches away. There was that smell again! This time the cinnamon was a bit more dominant, reminding me of winter nights spent before the fireplace with a mug of warm pumpkin juice. My eyes traced the profile of his face, down his forehead to the thick black lashes to his l…

I flushed, quickly looking down and staring at the parchment. Stupid Potter with his stupid intoxicating smell. Focus, Adela.

"ALBUSSSS!"

Potter froze, his hair brushing the side of my cheek.

"Crap," he muttered, shoving his face closer to the table in a futile attempt to hide his features.

I glanced upwards and to my left, meeting the aquamarine eyes of a rather tall redhead. Two shorter girls, both with matching shoulder-length blonde hair, flanked her sides. The redhead shot me a glare (Merlin if Potter got me in trouble with the fangirls I swore I'd hit him in the goblitusitus bitsitus with ol' Bessie) before flipping her perfectly curled hair over her left shoulder (Numberita estimated that she exerted about a Newton of force). She sneered, her red lips pulling into an unsightly curl. I eyed her; who in Merlin's name was she?

She was the type of girl that made everyone else feel inferior – of course (of course! Why expect anything less) she was utterly gorgeous…I'm sure _she_ didn't gorge herself on bacon.

Not that I cared about being pretty, mind you. It was just…okay, maybe I did – but it was natural!

She walked forward, stopping when she saw Potter's faceplant into the table.

She shot another icy glare in my direction.

"And _you_ are?" she asked snidely, ice freezing each of her words into a pointed threat. I rolled my eyes; I already hated her. I glanced down at Potter's utterly still body. Hm, to aid, or to not…?

A loud scoff came from her direction again. The girl turned to whisper to Right Blonde, whispering loudly, "Is she stupid or something? Can she not understand English?"

I saw red; alright, _that_ did it. NEVER INSULT A RAVENCLAW'S INTELLIGENCE. EVER.

I slid my wand quietly from the pocket of my robes, waving it in Potter's general direction from underneath the table.

"Mmrph!" came a muffled yelp from the table. I kicked him – come on, Potter. Cooperate! My eyes screwed shut with concentration, I pictured Potter's clear green eyes morphing into murky yellow ones and his slender nose enlarging to almost bulbous proportions. As a final touch I thinned his lips and added a rigorous amount of freckles to sprinkle his face.

I smiled to myself before pocketing my wand, turning to face the Evil Redhead. I smiled brightly, saying, "I'm Adela. And you are?"

She rolled her eyes before saying, "Emily Knightcast. Now move it…Albus dearest is calling me."

Holy hippogriffs. _That_ was Emily Knightcast? The same Emily Knightcast that had both broken James's heart and snogged Potter? The Emily Knightcast that had slipped Potter a love potion?

I watched with wide eyes as she reached down and yanked Potter up forcefully, moving to embrace him.

"ALBU-wait. Who are _you_?" she asked, blinking a bit as she took in Potter's changed features.

Potter, being the helpful person he was, said nothing, his fingers trembling a bit as Emily Knightcast (somehow her name warranted both a first and last name. You couldn't just call her "Emily" or "Knightcast" – no, it had to be Emily Knightcast. Or the Evil Redhead. Either one works) stared at him with a slightly crazed look in her eye.

Come on, Numberita – think! Think! Think!

Numberita whirled, struggling to come up with a way –_ any_ way – to get the Evil Redhead to leave Potter alone.

I stood up suddenly, the chair clattering to the ground.

The Evil Redhead, her posse, and Potter all turned to look at me. I flushed; right, probably should have thought this through. 7 awkwardly silent seconds passed as Numberita scrambled to think of something, _anything_ to say. The Evil Redhead scoffed, a delicate eyebrow rising as she moved to examine Potter again.

Shoot. Come on, do _something_, Adela!

I shot forward, wrenching Potter from her manicured hands.

"Wha-?"

"His name is Dean and he's my boyfriend."

Without thinking, I shoved my face towards his, my lips crashing onto his.

**AN: I hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter! Adela and Al finally kiss! Or, at least, they **_**sort of**_** kiss xD I thought it might be time for that, seeing as this story is already over 50k words x] However, don't worry - Adela + Al won't be throwing themselves at each other like hormonal creations of a deranged fanfic author (which they sort of are but THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT) anytime soon.**

**As always – PLEASE REVIEW! **


	19. Diapered Voldemorts and Idiotic Twins

**Diapered Voldemorts and Idiotic Twins**

** Author Note: Time for another escapade of the Awesome Adela variety! ;) This chapter's a bit angsty – you've been warned! xD**

** Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me, rest is Rowling's**

Sparks. Fire. Electricity.

I trembled, violent tingling sensations traveling the length of my body as my lips molded against his. The world seemed to disappear, my surroundings blurring into a giant mess. I reached upwards, my fingers threading themselves into his silky hair as I pulled him closer, closer, always closer.

"Right, get a room, will you?"

A snide, high voice cut into my haze, my surroundings sharpening into painful clarity. I stumbled away from Potter, my eyes widening in horror as Numberita finally (finally!) caught up with what had just happened.

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DID I JUST DO?

I met Potter's eyes; although they were now an ugly yellow colour, they were still that familiar almond-shape. They were widened with shock, his mouth still slightly open. The mouth that I had snogged less than twenty seconds ago. I flushed, staring at my feet. I lifted a trembling hand to my lips; they were swollen and felt like they were on fire.

I was vaguely aware of the Evil Redhead scoffing before leaving, her heels clacking on the wooden floor.

"Lancaster-"

I fought down the hot tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I shoved my hand into my pocket, lifting my wand with a trembling grip.

I avoided his eyes, pointing my wand at him and whispering, "Ob-_Obliviate_."

The familiar flood of warmth that followed every spell enveloped me, wrapping me in a comforting blanket as cool blue sparks sped towards Potter. I turned, grabbing my bag and stuffing my things haphazardly into its depths. I steadfastly avoided looking at the general area Potter inhabited, instead running out of the library, ignoring Madam Pince's yells to slow down.

It was only when I was safely in the nearest abandoned classroom that I allowed myself to cry.

xxxxx

After around 10 minutes and 33 seconds of pitiful sobbing (come on, come all to the Adela Waterworks..not), I finally managed to heave myself off of the dust-covered window seat I'd been residing on.

Alright, enough with the pathetic weeping, Adela. Pull yourself together! You're Awesome Adela!

Who cares if Potter just took (okay, maybe _you're_ the one who initiated it bu-GAH CHANGE TRAIN OF THOUGHT) your first kiss? NO BIG DEAL.

Okay, so maybe it was a huge deal. BUT I'M A HORMONAL TEENAGER OKAY. I HAVE AN EXCUSE.

Right, I don't even know what I'm thinking anymore. Note to self: send Numberita in for repair. Is that even possible? Where would one find a place skilled enough to handle my precious Numberita? Note to self: research Numberita-repair shops. Is there a degree in Numberitaology?

Erm. Moving on.

I stared out the dust-streaked window, just managing to make out the leaf-ridden Quidditch pitch from between the gray blobs (note to self: send a petition to Hogwarts to get some cleaning spells working) of grime.

Well, Quidditch _always_ made me feel better. I glanced at my watch; I had History of Magic class in twenty minutes. By the time I got out on the Pitch, I would probably only have around 10 minutes to fly…but some time was better than nothing. I needed to calm down and think.

Feeling a bit better now that I had a plan, I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, ignoring the strange looks a couple of Firsties gave me (what? IT IS PERFECTLY NORMAL TO WALK OUT OF ABANDONED CLASSROOMS OKAY).

xxxxx

Twelve minutes and 22 seconds later, I stood at the edge of the Pitch, my beaten-up broom firmly grasped in my right hand. I breathed in deeply, smiling slightly as the crisp autumn air invigorated me.

A stray leaf blew by, the dry yellow edges just managing to brush my cheek. Up above, the tall oak and maple trees that lined the pitch swayed slightly, their remaining leaves rustling and creating their own melody.

The Pitch was abandoned, the students either in class or warming up inside. I approached the middle of the Pitch, accompanied only by the sound of leaves crunching under my weight (oi! No weight comments necessary!).

I loved autumn.

Once I'd reached the white circle that signified the center of the Pitch, I dropped my bag and grasped my broom with both arms. Swinging my right leg over the handle, I kicked off, the broom rising 7 feet before hovering as I checked my balance; if I fell now, it could be really bad – no one was around this time to save me…not even Pot-NO. NOT THINKING ABOUT HIM LA LA LA.

I wrenched the handle upwards, the broom zooming upwards. The pressure in my ears built to uncomfortable levels as I passed the twenty-foot mark, the forty-foot mark, all the way up to seventy feet up in the air. I was twenty feet above the highest goal post, the wooden circles diminished by their distance. I circled the Pitch twice, the wind whistling and snatching at my hair playfully.

After three more rounds, I hovered above the rightmost goal post, my royal blue scarf whipping behind me as the wind picked up a bit. At this height, everything – including my problems – was diminished in importance; all that mattered was my broom, flying, and me. Nothing could taint Quidditch.

I settled, shifting to find a comfortable perch. My gloved hands grasped the broom's handle lightly as I swung up my legs to rest on the handle.

Right, time to think.

My mind flashed back to the library – the warmth of the fireplace 8 feet away, the way Potter had looked so shocked after the…the _incident_, and the way Evil Redhead had seemed utterly disgusted by my presence.

Things were changing so quickly…I hated it. Why couldn't things stay the same? I brushed away my tears angrily – _enough_ with the crying. Honestly, what was I – some muggle damsel in distress? No. I was Adela the Freaking Awesome.

I swung my legs down forcefully, urging my broom forward. As I increased in speed, the wind whipped by with increasing vigor, my hair pulling out of its messy ponytail and streaming behind me. I narrowed my eyes in concentration, urging my broom to go faster, faster, always faster.

At the end of the Pitch, I pulled the handle up abruptly, the broom screeching to a stop. I breathed heavily, each breath condensing in a white cloud before my lips.

Feeling considerably better, I resumed my relaxed perch, swinging my legs up and resting them on the handle.

Okay, Adela.

Think.

I'd obliviated Potter…so at least he wouldn't remember it…my heart sunk as I recalled law 10-2 section 7b (the one we'd learned about last year) of the Ministry – it was against the law to obliviate anyone without their consent.

Holy hippogriffs I could go to _jail_.

My breaths quickened, becoming audible even to my numb ears. I CAN'T GO TO JAIL I'M TOO YOUNG AND AWESOME GAH GAH GAH.

CALM DOWN.

NO YOU CALM DOWN.

NO YOU.

MERLIN I'M GOING INSANE.

I dipped the broom down, diving down towards the distant pitch below at dizzyingly high speeds.

My ears popped, tears of wind (not emotion, thank Merlin) streaming down the sides of my face and pooling by my ears as I stared down at the leaf-strewn ground below.

I stopped suddenly at around twenty feet above the grass, the broom creaking a bit in protest at the sudden movement. A few more sticks drifted down from its end, dropping onto the grass below and instantly becoming lost.

Note to self: sell that old tiara and buy a new broom.

Okay.

So, unless Potter happened to go to St. Mungo's and get his head checked out, no one would know. A stab of guilt pierced its way through my heart; could I stand living with the knowledge that I had broken the law?

No. I'd done what I had to…besides, it wasn't like it had _harmed_ Potter in any way – I'm sure he's thrilled that he won't have to remember snogging me.

Right..?

No. No. No.

I refused to let myself doubt my judgments; I was Awesome Adela, for Merlin's sake!

Visions of dark hair and bright green eyes filled my thoughts; blargh. _Not _ what I wanted to think about. Honestly, Potter's hair was just as messy as...

James.

I fought the urge to scream, pushing the yell back down my throat. How did I even feel about James at this point? Did I still fancy him?

...why did I even start fancying him in the first place?

Oh. Right - the quills. I groaned, thinking of the way the quills had been so carefully placed on my nightstand. Where had he even _found _them?

Awesome Adela is feeling conflicted. Awesome Adela does not approve of this.

I thought of James's dark hair (just a shade lighter than Potter's - if you looked closely..which I might have done in my whole "STALK/LOVE JAMES FROM AFAR" stage...you could just make out copper undertones) and blue eyes, so like a cloudless summer day.

Strangely enough, I no longer felt the need to vomit/cry when I pictured his grinning face. Of course, I still felt a twinge of pain, but it was no where near the amount of pain I'd been experiencing last week. HEY MAYBE I'M BECOMING LESS PATHETI-

nope. Just remembered the Library Incident.

MERLIN WHY DO I DO THE STUPIDEST THINGS?

...don't answer that question.

I was suddenly aware of someone else zooming upwards towards me, his blonde hair rippling a bit in the strong wind.

Seth.

"What do you want?" I shouted, the words snatched from my mouth by the wind the moment they were uttered. He cupped a gloved hand over his left ear, mouthing, "What?"

I rolled my eyes before motioning for him to land. He nodded, pointing his (much more expensive…not that I'm bitter or anything) broom downwards and landing smoothly. I followed him, stumbling a bit when my broom jolted underneath my arms.

There. Down at ground level the wind wasn't nearly as strong.

"What do you want?" I repeated, bending down to sling my bag over my shoulder.

"I just wanted to check up on you. Scorpius saw you storming out of the library, and he told me that you seemed upset," he said, his blue eyes (so like our parents'…so unlike mine) searching mine.

I laughed bitterly, turning away.

"So _now_ you come to check up on me," I spat out, staring at the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Yeah, I'm being cruel; I know that. But what I'd said _did_ have a ring of truth to it – usually Seth was way too caught up with his mates or newest girlfriend to even pay attention to me. Not that I needed him around 24/7, but sometimes it was nice to know that your twin knew you existed. And no, I'm not being dramatic! Okay, maybe a little. BUT I AM AWESOME ADELA SO IT'S OKAY.

"What's that supposed to mean?" his reply took on a defensive tone. I scoffed again, still refusing to meet his eyes. Seth wrenched me around, grasping my shoulders.

"Adela. Look at me."

I met his eyes reluctantly, a firm frown still in place.

"What?"

"Do you…are you still sad because I haven't been spending time with you?" Yes.

"No!"

"Then what is it?" he asked, releasing me and sighing with exasperation. Merlin, not even my own _twin_ can tell when I'm lying…not even when I most needed him to.

"I'm just embarrassed about the whole broom thing yesterday," I lied, gesturing to the broom I currently clutched in my left hand.

He smiled for 0.2 seconds before quickly wiping it from his face. The git was _laughing_ at me.

"Oh, well, Adela – that's not anything to be worried about! No one will even remember it," he assured me.

I pasted on a relieved smile, nodding along and making sure to appear like I was lapping up every word. How could he think I would be this distraught over a bloody _broom_? Did he really think me so superficial…so _dumb_? I WAS A BLOODY RAVENCLAW DAMMIT.

He leaned over and patted my shoulder.

"Just ask Father for a new broom for Christmas – I'm sure you'll get it," he said easily, flashing me a quick grin before turning to leave.

I stared at his retreating back, my mouth hanging open; where the diapered Voldemorts had that boy _been_ for the past six years?

Had he not seen the way Father hadthreatened to disown me back in First Year, the muffled fights as Mother tried to convince him not to – not because I wasn't a disgrace or anything, no, it was because "dear, what will the papers think?"

I sat down, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed to support my own weight (what, no brownie/bacon related joke this time?). The dew still left on the crinkled leaves seeped into the back of my robes, giving an unpleasant damp sensation.

Right, time to fly again.

xxxxx

Thirty windswept minutes later, I entered my History of Magic class forty minutes and 23 seconds late, my hair piled up into an unrecognizable lump at the top of my head and my cheeks still flushed from the brisk autumn air.

Professor Binns shot me a disapproving look, saying, "detention tonight" before continuing his drawn out speech on some goblin or another.

I didn't react, instead woodenly walking to my seat next to Rose and sitting down wearily.

"Where have you been?" she hissed from the corner of her mouth, her hands still furiously jotting down notes.

"Flying."

"_What_?"

"I'll tell you later."

She huffed but let me be…thank Merlin. I stared out the window, eying the grass outside longingly as Binns's words droned on and on.

xxxxx

Twenty excruciatingly slow minutes later (in which Rose raised her hand a total of twelve times while the rest of the class stared blankly at random objects) the class was _finally_ over. I shoved my belongings into my worn bag hastily, standing up quickly to leave.

"Lancaster!"

I cringed; how had he…? Right. Ravenclaws had History of Magic with Slytherins. Wincing inwardly, I turned around to catch Potter waving Seth and Scorpius on. He approached me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"We need to talk."

**Author Note: Cliffhanger! ;D Please review – they make me update faster! ;) It was a bit hard to come up with a humorous title for this chapter…seeing as it was so angsty and all xD Sorry it feels like a bit of a filler, but I needed it to properly convey Adela's emotions at this point. Anyway, I just wanted to thank all of you for reading this! I'm still overwhelmed by the sheer amount of you guys - around 6500 hits and counting! I want to especially thank everyone who has reviewed - I check my profile at least twice a day (once in morning, once at night) to see if there are any new reviews haha xD Seriously - REVIEWS ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY. You guys all rock! :)**


	20. Fairy Mandrakes: A Professor's Nightmare

**Fairy Mandrakes: Every Professor's Nightmare**

** Author Note: Thanks to all readers! And, of course, a special thank you to my beta Lovin Maya! She's awesome! :) **

"_What_, Potter?" I asked, making sure to fill my voice with enough exasperation that he wouldn't sense the underlying panic.

Did my spell not work? DID HE REMEMBER THE INCIDENT? GAH GAH GAH.

"We need to start making posters and sort out the first lesson," he said, eying me weirdly. "Why are you so nervous?"

Bugger. Why did _Potter_ have to see through my façade when my twin couldn't? IT WASN'T NATURAL. UNFAIR. BAD KARMA. BAD.

"I'M NOT NERVOUS AT ALL HAHAHA" I bellowed, a puff of brown hair sticking to my sweaty cheek (what? I sweat when I'm nervous, okay? NOT EVERYONE CAN BE PERFECT).

"Right…" he said slowly. "How about after dinner? I was thinking the first meeting should be on Wednesday, seeing as it's the only day next week that there isn't a Quidditch practice."

"I can't – detention with Binns," I answered, jerking my head in the direction of the small ghost currently shuffling around his desk.

Wait – how did he know that Ravenclaw didn't have a Quidditch practice Wednesday? Wood made Quidditch secrecy a matter of life and death (you think I'm joking? Ha. I wish – in third year I accidentally let it slip to Seth that Wood was thinking of hosting a practice on Thursday…Merlin, Wood ambushed me the minute I left my dorm the next day and cast a silencing charm on me. He wouldn't take it off for 32 hours and 10 minutes…and that was only after I'd tackled him 7 times with ol' Bessie).

Noting my questioning look, Potter shrugged. "I'm a captain – it's our duty to know these things," he said nonchalantly before glancing over his shoulder at Binns's direction.

"Right, tonight's the only time I can do it, so I'll go settle things with Binns," he added, turning around to walk towards Binns's desk.

Huh. I'd forgotten that Potter was Captain – although I suppose I should have known that. I might hate the bloke, but I had to give him this – he was bloody amazing at Quidditch. He'd even beaten his father's record for catching the most Snitches and had been the primary reason (contrary to Seth's boasts) Slytherin had won the Cup for the past bloody six years (come on, Ravenclaw has to win at least _once_ – seriously, it's getting old! Last year I seriously considered knocking Potter out and hiding him in some broom cupboard until the Cup was over). If I recall it correctly (psh who am I kidding, of course I remember it correctly), there was a bit of tension in the Slytherin team during the last bits of last year and the beginning of this year as the two Seventh Years (a beater and a chaser) both grumbled over the fact that a Sixth Year was chosen Captain.

Oh well, I'd have to let Wood know that Potter had found some way to figure out our schedule – hehehe maybe he'll tackle Potter! That would be fun to watch…

"It's settled."

Wha-?

"Huh?" I asked, snapping out of my merry visions of Wood smacking Potter.

He rolled his eyes (Merlin, that boy has to _stop_ doing that. It couldn't be healthy to go around doing that all the time) before saying, "I'll join you tonight with Filch."

Had he…had he just gotten detention just to sort out this stupid club? What had he even _done_? Maybe he'd called the Professor a fairy mandrake or something (the last student that did that left Binns in tears for a full week…something about traumatic childhood memories of mutated mandrakes). I shot a discreet glance at Binns; nope, the small ghost was still cheerfully shuffling through the rolls of parchments piled up on his desk.

"What did you _do_?" I asked finally, the curiousity getting the better of me. His eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

I gestured at Binns (whacking my arm in the process – oh joyous me) before continuing.

"You know, to get detention that quickly! He doesn't seem to be in tears or anything, so you can't have brought out the fairy card..." I mused.

He smirked.

"I volunteered to help Filch, of course," he said, his voice taking on that holier-than-thou tone. Git. He'd made himself look good in front of the Professor.

He shot me one last smug grin before adjusting his grip on his books and moving to leave the classroom.

"Don't be late!" he called over his shoulder. Wha-the _nerve_! Why I ought to…

"BLARGHHH STUPID NOSELESS VOLDEMORTS THE GIT SHOULD OH WHERE IS OL' BESSIE BLARGHHH!" I shouted, my hands shaking as I saw red.

The temperature seemed to plummet, and I became aware of a chillingly cold breeze washing over me. Oh, great. Professor Binns had come over.

"Erm…Miss Lancaster? Are you alright?"

Oh, I'm just _dandy_.

xxxxxx

Three hours, 12 minutes, and 31 seconds later, I found myself staring at the oh-so-appetizing mess of poked-at beans, nibbled-on bread, and gnawed-on chicken bones collected on my plate. I fiddled with the slim golden fork, stabbing experimentally at a runaway pea.

"You've been staring at that pea for the past 53 minutes."

54 minutes, actually, but I wasn't about to correct her – Numberita was feeling a bit too discouraged for that.

I turned to face Rose, sighing and setting down the fork with a loud clatter.

She raised a delicate eyebrow, crossing her arms as she waited.

"I'm trying to stall," I said finally, my knee bouncing up and down a bit (stupid knee. Note to self: Find a spell that will make my knee listen to me…and while I'm at it, maybe make it extra pointy...you know, just in case any goblinitusitus bititus are in need of kneeing).

"For wh-oh," she said, realization dawning on her face. "Detention with Filch? I'm sure it won't be that bad," she said consolingly.

I scoffed softly; it wasn't the Filch part I was worried about…although, now that I thought about it, that was a bit worrisome as well (Filch had a reputation for making students polish the trophies without wands or making them go out to the Forest and find treats for Mrs. Norris…who happens to be more picky than Sir Archibald. Which is seriously saying a lot, considering that the bloody cat will only eat owl pellets). Besides, Rose wouldn't know much about Filch – I don't think she's ever even had a detention. Although, I supposed Fred and James would have filled her in.

But seriously – the whole "spending three hours with Potter in which he might suddenly remember the whole Library Scandal and hex me or something" was seriously freaking me out. I'M TOO YOUNG AND AWESOME TO DIE.

"When do you have it?" Her voice cut through my thoughts. Right, note to self: stop getting immersed into your thoughts.

Ha, like _that's_ going to happen anytime soon.

I glanced at my watch, noting that the silver hands were just touching the "7" and "6"; it was just past 7:30 (around 28 seconds past, to be precise. Precision is important, folks! Numberita insists upon it).

"28 seconds ago, actually."

Rose looked scandalized at the notion of being late (wait until I told her about the time I was 3 hours and 12 minutes late to Seth's birthday party…which should have been mine as well, but this was after the whole Sorting Incident…and you know how _that_ changed things).

"Go! Filch is going to be positively _furious_!" she said, her eyes widening. I sighed heavily, swinging my legs over the smooth bench and getting up.

"Woo," I muttered, shouldering my bag and walking towards the exit.

Well, _this_ should be fun.

xxxxxx

Seven minutes and 12 seconds later (in which I tried to drag out each step, even pausing to examine the creepy paintings on the third floor corridor), I arrived at Binns's classroom.

Adela Nicole Lancaster, be strong.

I wrenched the door opening, immediately getting affronted by Filch's narrowed eyes.

Oh, looks like _someone_ got up at the wrong end of the bed today.

"Hello, Mr. Filch. How are you doing today?" I asked politely.

"Late!" he bellowed. Well.

Seems like common courtesy was out these days. Good to know that all those lady lessons were useless now. Mother would be pleased…not.

I glanced over at Potter, noting that a roll of parchment was tucked into the pocket of his trousers. If I strained my eyes, I could just make out the words "AWESOME LESSON PLAN DAY 1" with the "AWESOME" scratched out. I scowled; git. How dare he scratch out the awesome?

Filch roughly lifted two rusted red metal buckets, banging them down onto the desk and leering at us.

My heart sunk; those were the collecting buckets…which meant that we were going to –

"Go out in the Forbidden Forest and don't come back until these buckets are filled Honking Daffodils – not the green kind, mind you. They must be pure white or my darling Mrs. Norris will not eat them!"

-collect treats. Joy.

Potter didn't look too happy himself, but he took the bucket with only a small scowl on his face. I dropped my bag down, extracting ol' Bessie and grasping her firmly with my left hand and reaching for the bucket with my right.

Noticing Potter's questioning glance, I said, "What? Do _you_ want to go into the Forbidden Forest at night without any protection?"

Merlin, he was an idiot.

If anything, his look grew even more incredulous.

"You do realize you're a witch, right?" he asked. I looked back blankly; so?

"You have a wand," he said slowly, waving his own in a rather arrogant manner.

I flushed; right. Hmph…I knew that! Ol' Bessie was just extra protection. I tried tossing my hair back, my hand flinging itself through empty air as I remembered that my hair was currently pulled back into a ponytail.

Moldy Voldemorts, KARMA WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?

He laughed, leading the way out of the classroom. I scowled at his back. Huh. From this angle, I could just make out the curve of his shoulders through the standard white shirt…I flushed, remembering the pathetic way I'd clutched at him in the Library Scandal.

GAH MENTAL IMAGES GET THEM OUT.

"Not that I don't appreciate the background ambiance, but do you mind not muttering to yourself?" came Potter's snide remark.

My scowl deepened as I longingly fingered ol' Bessie…soon, Bessie. Soon.

I was distracted from my plotting (Numberita was coming up with a rather ingenious plot involving the use of three owls and one house elf in order to corner Potter and properly tackle him) by the loud clang that accompanied a heavy door being opened.

I stepped out into the cool night, shivering a bit as I left Hogwarts's warmth. If I'd known we were going to be traipsing around, I would have brought my robes.

Merlin, it was cold. I rubbed at my bare arms, my teeth chattering a bit as I followed Potter to the path leading to the Forbidden Forest. With each breath, a clouded white fog expelled itself from my mouth, dissipating slowly. As we traveled farther from Hogwarts's lights, I could make out a liberal sprinkling of luminescent stars above, only outperformed by the gibbous moon's brilliance. Hm…judging by the amount of the moon shadowed by Earth, I would say that the next full moon should be…tomorrow, actually. Huh. Funny how it worked out that way – tomorrow was Halloween…and the Hogsmeade trip. My heart sunk as I thought about it; Scrivenshaft hadn't sent word of any new quills, so it looked like I'd be spending another day in the library.

Not that I minded – nope, Awesome Adela _loves_ the library!

I jumped a bit as I walked, trying to get feeling into my legs. Stupid muggle jeans – I _knew_ I should have charmed them to be warmer. As I jumped, little cracks sounded throughout the otherwise-quiet night as I crushed small sticks and displaced the pebbles lining the path.

"Merlin, can you be quiet?"

Git.

_Gah!_

A thick bundle of cloth slammed into my face, a metal button smacking my eyebrow painfully.

What…? I unfolded it, smelling the telltale pine scent that always seemed to accompany Potter, to reveal a dark coat.

"Why…?"

"You'll attract all the beasts if you keep making all that noise," came his brusque answer. Well, glad to know Potter was still his unpleasant self. I contemplated throwing the jacket back at him, but decided against it – but only because I was cold! Not because Awesome Adela was accepting Potter's clothing or anything.

A sudden thought dawned on Numberita, and I voiced my question, "You weren't wearing a jacket…how…?"

Potter paused his swift walking (seriously – I was panting just trying to keep up with the prick), waiting for me to catch up. After I'd reached his side, he began walking at a slightly slower pace.

"I asked Aunt Hermione to charm my shirt pocket."

I nodded; Hermione Granger-Weasley would certainly be capable of an enlargement charm. Numbers swirled through my head as I calculated the amount of sheer magic needed to expand his pocket (which looked to be about 3.21 inches wide and 2.98 inches tall) enough to fit a jacket and Merlin knows what else.

After 190 more seconds of quiet walking, we reached the outermost trees of the Forest. Everything was eerily quiet, and the trees looked foreboding and black. I could barely make out anything past the third tree – the Forest was engulfed in inky darkness. Stupid Filch and his stupid picky cat. Honking Daffodils were only found in this clearing a good mile and a half into the forest and were notoriously hard to carry (seeing as they made so much noise they attracted many an unwanted predator).

"Still have your bucket?" he whispered, his wand gripped firmly in his left hand. I nodded, eying our surroundings warily. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of fear jolt its way through my body; I was never good with the dark.

He nodded, his face cast into stark shadows and lights by the harsh moonlight.

"_Lumos_," he whispered. The tip of his wand glowed brightly, pale blue light illuminating an area around 7 feet in diameter.

"Right, let's go then…the sooner we get this done the better. We still need to discuss the lesson plans."

Somehow, I didn't even feel the urge to roll my eyes at his mention of the duel club.

Leaves rustled quietly in the distance as something moved.

I gulped down my fear, making sure that my face was free of any emotion before echoing his words.

"Let's go."

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review! **


	21. Adela: The Salad Murderer

**Adela: The Salad Murderer**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! **** Alright: question/poll time: Do you guys want me to keep this more light hearted + focused on the character development OR put in some action/major plot? I was thinking about saving the major action stuff for a potential sequel…but I'm getting tempted to add it in here too haha xD So, please review and tell me your answer! Thank you so much to Lovin Maya - she seriously makes these chapters 1000x better!**

Gah. Gah. Gah.

Have I ever told you how much I hate the Forbidden Forest? Seriously. The last class that required me to go anywhere near it was in fourth year (Care of Magical Creatures)…I dropped that class as quickly as I could. I've always hated the dark. After the Sorting Incident, Father had taken to locking me up in one of the many supply closets in the Manor whenever anyone of importance visited. He would usually forget me…it was only when Seth or Daisy, one of our house elves, remembered me (usually after at least 12 hours) that he grudgingly sent a house elf to let me out.

I remember thinking that rats ran rampant in the closet – I would hear soft scuffling noises from the corners and picture rabies-infected vermin just waiting to eat me. I suppose that's why I've always loved cats – I remember Sir Archibald caught a mouse on his first day with me.

Potter and I walked silently side-by-side. I studiously avoided looking in his direction. The few times I did happen to glance over, I ended up staring at his mouth and thinking of the whole Library Scandal. And that was _not_ a good direction for your thoughts to go when you're walking in the Forbidden Forest at 8:32 PM.

"How much longer do you reckon it is?" I asked, the words sounding unnaturally loud against the otherwise silent background.

He shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

"Well, we've been walking for around 21 minutes, yeah? And at the rate we're going, I'd say we're averaging about a mile every seventeen minutes. So maybe around five more minutes," he said easily.

Holy hippogriffs he'd calculated the rate we were walking at? Sure, he was around 2 minutes off (I'd judged that we were walking a mile every 18 minutes, using the fact that my average step was 2.5 inches to get to that conclusion), but still – I had to admit, it was a bit weird to see that someone else calculated rates like I did.

Potter seemed to realize what he'd just said and quickly added, "Of course, that's all just me guessing."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead smiling softly to myself.

"Obviously," I said amicably, keeping my eyes trained on the tall trees surrounding us. For the night before a full moon, it was remarkably peaceful. Of course, that didn't mean that we were in the clear yet – we still had yet to even reach the clearing.

We continued in silence for another 49 seconds, only speaking to warn each other about the occasional root or other hazard.

It was odd, really. In Hogwarts we never would have done that for each other – even an act as simple as warning the other about a potential hazard was unheard of for us. Had we always been like this? Numberita struggled to remember…even before the whole First Year Incident, he'd always been aloof – I'd just never noticed it. I recalled an instance where I went to say hi to Seth at the Halloween feast; Scorpius had greeted me cheerfully, but Potter had just given me a quick "hello" before going back to talking with some random Slytherin. I mean, I suppose he _might_ have had an excuse for being so aloof…I think the week before James and Potter had had a particularly nasty row. And what was this whole thing about "not needing pity," anyway? Was Potter really that proud that he couldn't even accept a simple act of _friendship_? Alright, so maybe in First Year my actions were motivated by a little bit more than friendship, but still!

Oh, stop smirking.

I shot a quick glance in Potter's direction; his face was turned, his dark locks just brushing the tops of his cheeks. Something in my throat tightened, and I looked quickly away. Merlin, when had my life gotten so messed up? I shivered, pulling Potter's coat closer around me. Well, I had to give it to him – the bloke smelled bloody amazing. Hm…maybe my entrepreneurial dreams didn't have to die! If I could just find out a way to replicate his scent…that congestion reliever could still work!

"Lancaster."

"Mmm?" I asked, still plotting of ways to get Potter to agree to the rigorous hours of research necessary to perfectly replicate his scent.

"I can practically see your brain killing itself. Stop thinking so much."

I huffed, pulling myself upwards in what I hoped resembled a dignified lady.

"Her name is Numberita," I muttered.

"What?"

I flushed; great, he'd heard me. Oh well, it's not like it was anything to be ashamed of! He _wished_ his brain were awesome enough to warrant a name.

I ignored him, instead walking a bit faster.

I caught sight of a slight opening in the trees ahead, just making out a dimly lit field from between some of the branches.

"Potter."

"I see it," he murmured, lowering his wand a tad (around 5.3 cm) and jumping over a fallen tree trunk.

"_HONK HONK HONK!_"

I winced, the loud noise sounding jarringly conspicuous.

Yup, we were definitely at the clearing.

I followed Potter, only managing to trip a little over the tree trunk (success! I'd fallen over the last trunk, so this was an improvement. Oh, stop laughing).

After managing to disentangle myself from the maze of gnarled branches guarding the clearing, I stumbled into it.

Holy hippogriffs, it was loud. I cupped my hands over my ears, the bucket dangling from my arm as I strode over to where Potter was currently shoving the white flowers into his bucket.

I bent down next to him, kneeling carefully so that I didn't crush any of the delicate flowers.

I took a moment to watch Potter's movements. His hands moved with a self-assured confidence, diving down to nimbly pluck the honking daffodils from the grasps on the earth. Must be a Seeker thing; right now, my Beater instincts were telling me to just bang my bucket on the ground and whack a few things (namely Potter) with ol' Bessie. Something (maybe the sane portion of Numberita…oh stop scoffing, I can see you!) told me that probably wouldn't end up too well, so I sighed and squashed those impulses.

But still – so tempting.

I grasped the velvety-smooth stem of the nearest honking daffodil, wincing when its honking grew to an unbearable volume.

"Merlin, this is worse than torture!" I shouted.

"This _is _torture!" Potter bellowed back.

My poor ears. This is worse than the time I took the last Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from his trunk when we were in Second Year…the spoiled brat yelled about it for _hours_. I mean, I loved Seth and all, but _really_ – I could say from bitter experience that his lungs were in top condition.

I jabbed another daffodil into my bucket, grimly ignoring its shrieks. It sounded like it was in severe pain…I peered down into the depths of my bucket, watching as the daffodils vibrated a bit. If I looked closely I could just make out small mouths opening as the small yellow petals thrashed around.

"Do you think they feel pain?"

Potter paused mid-pluck, a thoughtful expression coming up on his face.

"Merlin, I didn't even think about that," he said, sounding a bit surprised. I shrugged, still gazing down into my bucket. Did plants have emotions? I thought back to the fresh salad I'd eaten earlier today…what if those lettuce bits were the father/mother of some poor orphans? OH MERLIN I WAS A SALAD MURDERER.

"I don't think so, though. I mean, Aunt Hermione would have picked up on it by now if that was true," he said easily, rolling his eyes.

Hm. I looked down at the agitated flowers, still not entirely convinced.

"Lancaster. You go around tackling people and beating them mercilessly with a wooden bat, for Merlin's sake. Tell me you're not feeling sorry for some _flowers_," he said disbelievingly.

I flushed, attempting to toss my hair back (and managing to whack myself in the nose in the process).

"Whatever…Slytherin," I said primly, resuming my flower picking.

Cue scoff from the Potter department. Oh joy.

After thirteen minutes and 22 seconds, my bucket was finally filled to the brim with shrieking daffodils. I glanced over at Potter's direction; looks like he'd finished his as well. I stood up, brushing the wilted grass from my knees.

"Ready to go?"

He nodded, hooking the bucket firmly against his side. Potter glanced upwards, his mouth set in a firm line. I followed his line of sight, shivering a bit when I saw the eerily cloudless night. The nearly full moon hung directly above, throwing pale light onto everything below.

The sooner we got back to Hogwarts, the better.

Three minutes and 12 seconds later, Potter and I were back to our silent walk. The honking daffodils had quieted, the sudden silence eerily conspicuous against the raucous uproar that had been present just a minute ago.

Leaves rustled to the right. I flinched, edging 2 cm closer to Potter.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "Filch should know better – why send two students out to the Forbidden Forest on the night before the full moon? It's just plain stupid."

I shrugged, my eyes still fixated on the dark underbrush to the right.

"Filch isn't exactly the brightest bulb out there," I pointed out. I adjusted my grip on ol' Bessie, keeping her firmly grasped with my right hand.

"I guess," he said, his voice still tinged with doubt. We walked silently for another 52 seconds, the only sound being the leaves crunching underneath our feet. I felt a slight prickling at the back of neck; odd, that was the same feeling I got when a bludger was about t-

"DUCK!" I bellowed, flinging myself at Potter. We crashed to the ground, my hair flying up as a jet of scarlet light slammed into a tree ahead. I tentatively patted the top of my head, groaning when I felt that it was singed. Great. What is with my hair and getting burned?

Potter's eyes were wide, and he seemed to be struggling to breathe quietly. Right. I was still on top of him. I flushed, slowly getting off of his chest. I readied ol' Bessie with my right hand and my wand with the left. Someone was out there. Someone had just shot a _Stupefy_ at two students. Someone wanted us injured.

My ears strained as I crouched down, my knees protesting at the effort. My fingers shook a bit, my wand quickly becoming slippery as I sweated. Potter, of course, stood quietly, his wand held calmly out in front of him.

After 73 tense seconds, he turned to face me, his wand never lowering.

"Adela?" he whispered. I gulped, trying to dislodge the solid knot of fear that had lodged itself in my threat.

"What?" I finally managed to get out, my voice hoarse. My shoulders were bunched up near my ears, every muscle tensing as I peered out into the inky darkness.

"Do you sense anyone out there?"

I paused, my shoulders lowering a bit as I regarded him. Why would I be able to – right. Beater senses and all that.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to close my eyes. The forest was silent, almost like it was holding its breath. A branch cracked from around 32˚ northeast. I whirled around, whipping my wand out and shouting, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

The air in front of me rippled as the spell shot out. I heard a muffled grunt as the attacker flung himself/herself to the side.

Potter rushed past me, slashing his wand from left-to-right to cast a spell. I dropped my pail to the ground before following him, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

Come on, Adela. You can do this. Breathe.

The branches clawed at my face as I ran past the gnarled trees, slivers of dead leaves and wood catching itself in my tangled hair. I thundered past the various shrubs, not caring that my every step was as loud as a cannon – I had to catch up to Potter.

Where _was_ he?

I paused, struggling to slow my breathing as I listened.

_Crunch_.

There! I sprinted toward my left, haphazardly shoving thorns from my face.

Potter lay sprawled on the ground, his wand lying four inches away from his left hand. I looked around the clearing, just managing to catch a glimpse of a leering face before the attacker ran away. I moved to chase after him but stopped, cursing when I realized that Potter was hurt. I ran to Potter, kneeling down next to his face.

"What happened?" I asked hurriedly, my voice rising a bit in panic.

He groaned, clutching at his head. Well, at least he could move.

"The git hit me with a bloody _branch_," he said before moving to sit up.

"Holy fu-!" he hissed, clutching at his head. I quickly moved to brace his head up so that it didn't crash down on the floor (let no one tell you Adela Lancaster is not a generous angel! …Oh stop laughing).

Holy hippogriffs. Potter's head was in my lap. GAH GAH GAH AWESOME ADELA DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO PROCEED WITH THIS. I'm sure my cheeks were a rather attractive shade of tomato red by now. I looked steadfastly upwards, trying to ignore the warmth currently emanating from the black-haired form in my lap.

_Witch Weekly_ would have a field day with this one.

Not that I read that trash, of course. Nope. No way. I'm way too sophisticated for that rubbish!

Potter shifted, groaning a little as he moved. He tried to get up again but crashed back down, his hair just curling over my legs.

"Who do you reckon that was?"

Oh, good – talking. I could deal with that.

"I don't know," I answered, my eyebrows furrowed. I really didn't – who could have been lurking around in the Forbidden Forest? And more than that – who would be doing something so illegal that he had to resort to _stunning_ people rather than risk questions?

Potter got up, cursing all the while. I scrambled to my feet as well, brushing off stray branches from my jeans.

Holy _gah_. I winced as my hands got caught on a stray branch. I brought my palms up towards my face, squinting to see them in the dim moonlight.

Great.

Dark red blood ran down from small cuts, and three small thorns were imbedded in the pads of my fingers. Just bloody fantastic.

I pinched one between the fingers of my right hand, yanking it out with a loud yelp.

"What's wrong?"

I grimaced, tears springing unbidden to my eyes. Potter stood behind me, his hand still clutching at his head. He looked a bit worried. I thrust my hand forward, muttering, "It's nothing. Just a few thorns."

"Merlin, Lancaster. How do you always get hurt?" he asked, exasperation threading its way through his voice. I scowled, moving to yank my hand back.

Potter held fast, his fingers encircling my wrist.

"Keep quiet," he said. Why would I be lo-

MERLIN'S BEARD.

I clamped my teeth down, swallowing the loud curse I had been about to shriek. Potter ignored my protest, instead choosing to pluck out the last of the thorns.

He released me with a self-satisfied smirk. I scowled, hugging my hand to my chest protectively. Stupid Potter.

"We need to tell Dominus about this," I said. He sobered instantly, dropping his hand from his head.

"I know," he said quietly. We began walking back towards the path.

"It's times like these that I wish Dumbledore was still alive," he said suddenly. I looked away, picking up my bucket from its place on the ground. Dumbledore was a tabooed subject with the Malfoys. Scorpius's father had attempted to kill him when he was still in Hogwarts; Mr. Malfoy still got death threats at times because of his mistakes. It was only with the insistence of Hermione Granger-Weasley and Harry Potter that he was let free after the war.

From what I hear, Dumbledore was an amazing man. A bit queer at times (something about an obsession with lemon drops..?), but still absolutely brilliant. In comparison, Dominus was an idiot. The Minister placed him as the head of Hogwarts when McGonagall retired…no one had ever heard of him before, but apparently he was pretty high up in the Ministry at the time of his appointment. He was extremely strict and was generally capable, but something told me that he probably wouldn't believe us; Dominus always looked down upon us students. He would probably just pat our heads and make empty promises about looking into the matter but end up doing nothing at all.

"He's not going to believe us, is he?" I asked bitterly. Potter sighed, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. His slightly curly black hair ruffled, bits standing up messily.

"Probably not," he said finally, his voice heavy with weariness.

But that was all right. Potter and I would still go to tell him.

Because humans? Humans have a tendency to do foolish things. Things that may seem futile…and yet these are things that must be done regardless.

Sure, Dominus would probably laugh as soon as we left his office. Sure, we might be the laughingstock of the faculty room for the next couple of days. And, sure, we might be punished by Filch for returning much later than expected.

But that was okay. This was something new, something different – I could sense it. Maybe this is what we were all waiting for. It sounds terrible, but my peers and I are all thirsting for something so that we can prove ourselves.

Something so that we can show that we are worth something as well. Something so that we no longer have to live in our parents' shadows.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please REVIEW with your answer to the question above! **


	22. Cat Vomit Jumpers

**Cat Vomit Jumpers**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! As for the results of the poll - it seems like the majority of you guys want me to save the action for a sequel and just add a bit to this one :)**

"Adela!"

Blargh. I flopped onto my stomach, steadfastly ignoring the intruder.

"Adela!"

This time the voice was higher and was accompanied by a forceful shove to my shoulder.

Merlin. I hate mornings – why can't people see that? SOME PEOPLE JUST DO NOT APPRECIATE GETTING RUDELY WAKEN UP ON A BLOODY SATURDAY MORNING.

I groaned, pushing myself up and settling myself against the headboard. Rose Weasley's wide honey coloured eyes and candy apple red (hm…perhaps I'm hungry) hair filled my vision.

"What?" I mumbled, swiping blearily at my eyes.

"We're going to Hogsmeade in thirty minutes! Hurry up and get ready!" she said impatiently. Rose jumped off my bed, running to her bed and rummaging through her trunk. I observed her increasingly frantic movements and muttered laments of "oh no, where's that shirt?" and "I just _knew_ I should have gotten more galleons!"

And here is the Rose Weasley in her natural habitat. Let us observe as the red headed beast wallows in her home. The elusive Rose Weasley survives on a diet of watermelon (honestly – you should see her when the house elves bring out watermelon for the weekend brunches. She may be small, but that girl can eat a whole watermelon…in one sitting).

"ADELA!"

I snapped out of my musings to see that Rose was thrusting two equally frilly looking shirts towards my face (ALERT. ALERT. INVASION OF PERSONAL SPACE. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. INITIATE DEFENSE SYSTEM).

"HARRASSMENT HARRASSMENT HARRASSMENT WEEE-OOO WEE-OOO WEE-OO!" I bellowed, flinging myself up the bed. My left foot caught on the corner of my blanket, propelling me forward to land on the wooden floor 2.3 feet away from my bed.

Oof. Note to self: work on the Awesome Adela Defense System.

Rose sighed in exasperation. "Honestly, Adela! Which of the two do you reckon I should wear?"

I eyed the two shirts. The one on the left was a dark maroon colour and sported thirteen thin (maybe 0.3 inches wide) white horizontal stripes. It was long sleeved, which was nicely suitable for the chilly autumnal weather. The one on the right was a giant white jumper consisting of a thick cableknit pattern. Um. Why in the name of Merlin's beard (did Merlin have a beard? Note to self: research that while in the library later today) did Rose expect _me_ of all people (seriously – this is the girl that wears pajamas all day if she can) to know which one to choose?

Well, Numberita was up for the challenge! Using a complicated and deeply thought-out theorem, I would arrive to my conclusion only through vigorous hours of experimentation and research!

I closed my eyes, twirled around twice, and jabbed my hand in a general direction.

"That one!" I shouted (I've found out that if you yell stuff you're more likely to be believed. After I found that particular fact out I went around shouting, "Seth is a unicorn!" for a week. Unfortunately, I only managed to convince a random toddler). I opened my eyes, finding that my left index finger was currently poking the soft material of the white sweater.

Rose rolled her eyes but complied, folding the maroon one deftly and placing it neatly into her trunk. Blah. I glanced back at my own trunk; everything was haphazardly piled in and random rolls of parchment were crammed into the corners. Eh. Note to self: convert Rose to the ways of the messy ones.

Rose went off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving me to contemplate various methods of making Rose's trunk more messy without detection.

"_Mrow_!"

Oh great. Sir Cheerful was here. I glanced down just in time to catch a glimpse of Sir Archibald's white tufted tail as he jumped upwards to join me. Sir Archibald padded over to my crossed legs, plopped himself down on my knees, and promptly began using my legs as a scratching post.

I cursed, pushing his small body off.

"Bad cat!" I scolded. Sir Archibald blinked lazily, bringing up a slender paw and proceeding to lick it thoroughly.

I swear to you guys – cats are just plotting to take over the world.

I extracted the jar of owl pellets from underneath a pile of discarded white shirts and overturned the jar 180˚ so that five owl pellets clattered into Sir Archibald's bowl. A stray bone fell out of one of the small green…_things_. Despite my queasiness (I could never stand the sight of skeletons…not since that one time in First Year when Scorpius put a bloody rat's skeleton INTO MY SOUP), Numberita immediately began to calculate its width (2 cm) and the animal it had come from (looked to be a leg bone from a small field mouse).

_Thump. Thump. Thump_.

Merlin, what was Rose _doing_ in there? I eyed the closed bathroom door warily, straining to hear anything else. After 22 seconds, I decided to chalk it up to the whole "crazed Weasley" gene she had.

The circular dorm was empty; everyone else had probably already left to beat the crowds at Honeydukes. I crouched next to my trunk and retrieved my Awesome Journal from its perch underneath a particularly ugly jumper I got from Scorpius as a gag gift last year. I flipped open to the latest page, took out my eagle feather quill, and began jotting down my schedule for today. What? Numberita likes to be organized!)

Hm…it was 8:01 AM.

_8:15 AM: Head to the Great Hall for Bacon Supply. Restock on Bacon. Try not to terrorize First Years_.

I paused, gazing down at my last sentence. Maybe that was a bit too ambitious for this early in the day. I dipped my quill back into the inkwell before scratching that last bit out and adding "_Try not to directly tackle a First Year_." There. It was still going to be challenging, but at least it was doable.

_9:00 AM: Go to the library – hopefully while still wearing those Awesome Footsie pajamas. Finish that Herbology paper. Doodle a cartoon of Professor Longbottom buried under a pile of Mandrakes. Laugh then tear it up and proceed to draw Beater tactics. Contemplate killing Wood. _

_ 12:30 PM: Head to the Great Hall for Bacon restock. _

_ 1:00 PM: Go back to the library. Keep reading your way through those books!_

_ 7:00 PM: Go back to the Great Hall for bacon. Avoid the throngs of happy students that have just returned from Hogsmeade._

_ 7:30 PM: Go back to the library. Try hiding in that small corner you found on Thursday to see if Madame Pince won't notice you. If success: hide out in the library until midnight. If failure: tackle random students in the hallway to relieve that stress. Only stop when someone offers you bacon. _

There. I shut the Awesome Journal and tapped it with my wand, locking it with a spell I'd found in a book back in Second Year. If anyone other than me tried to open the Awesome Journal, they would then be hit by a particularly nasty slug charm. Hehehe.

I slipped the journal back into its place and yawned, stretching my legs.

"What do you think?"

I looked up; Rose had left the bathroom (finally) and stood nervously before me. Her curly hair was pulled up into a ponytail and her cheeks were flushed a bit. I felt a small pang of jealousy; some people are just way too pretty. Honestly – I'm sure they've hogged all our supply of beauty. IT WAS BLOODY UNFAIR.

"You look fine. Why?" I asked curiously. Had…WAIT DID SCORPIUS FINALLY MAN UP ENOUGH TO ASK HER OUT?

Rose's blush deepened, her freckled skin turning a violent red colour. Well, at least she blushed as much as I did.

"Well, Al and his mates are meeting up with us at Three Broomsticks at 8:20," she said carefully, clearly avoiding the fact that Scorpius was included.

Well, _I_ certainly wasn't going to let her get away with that.

"YOU FANCY SCORPIUS! YOU FANCY SCORPIUS! YOU FANCY SCORPIUS!" I sang jovially, leaping up to dance around Rose gleefully. Immature? Oh, definitely. Out of line? No way!

She scowled but her lips quivered before twitching up into a small smile.

"Alright, so maybe Scorpius will be there as well," she said, her smile broadening into a huge grin.

Wow. I wasn't sure whether to be jumping for joy that my mental pairing had finally come true or to be hurling at this sickening display of lovesickness.

Hm. Decisions, decisions.

Well, one positive result of this whole "Rose Weasley finally admits her infatuation with Scorpius Malfoy" situtation was that she had forgotten to ask me why I went flying the other day…or why I'd returned from detention so late last night.

Last night…I sighed wearily, plopping myself down onto the navy blue window seat behind me. I curled my pajama-d knees towards my chin, hugging my legs to my stomach as I gazed out the window.

Potter and I had gone to see Headmaster Dominus. Dominus had done exactly what we'd expected him to do; he'd assured as that there weren't anymore dark wizards or threats in the world, but he would Owl the Ministry all the same. After we were dismissed, I'd happened to glance backwards to see him toss the parchment detailing the attack into the rubbish bin.

"-up!"

Huh? I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts.

"What?"

Rose sighed heavily before saying, "I _said_, why aren't you ready yet? We need to leave in the next five minutes in order to get there in time!"

Well, actually, considering the distance the Three Broomsticks was from Hogwarts (around 1650 meters away) and the rate at which she probably walked (probably around 140 steps per minute), she would probably take around 16 minutes…meaning she would have to leave in the next four minutes and 22 seconds in order to get there in time.

Wait. Had she just told _me_ to get ready? Why would I need to get ready? I usually just wore my pajamas to go the library-oh. Numberita caught up; Rose expected _me_ to go to Hogsmeade.

I shook my head, opening my mouth to explain that I usually stayed in Hogwarts during the Hogsmeade trips.

Rose looked scandalized. She shook her head forcefully, dislodging a few auburn curls from her neat ponytail.

"You _have_ to come!" she pleaded. "Please, Adela! What if I need your help with Scorpius? Merlin, what if I completely humiliate myself? I need you to be there!"

She pouted, giving me the puppy eyes that looked uncannily similar to the ones Seth pulls out when he wants me to buy him a box of Bertie Botts.

Blargh.

"Fine."

She grinned before flinging her hands forward and twitching her fingers a bit. Huh? Was this some sort of ritualistic Weasley rite? OH MERLIN I JUST KNEW THE WOTTERS WERE INVOLVED IN SOME SORT OF SATANIC CULT. I BET THEY WENT AROUND BEATING PEOPLE FOR FUN AND OTHER DISGUSTINGLY VIOLENT THINGS LIKE THAT (VIOLENT THINGS THAT I FOR ONE WOULD NOT EVEN CONSIDER DOING!).

"Well, go on!" she said, doing that weird hand thing again. After 12 seconds I realized that she was shooing me (me! The Awesome Adela!) onwards. Well. The _nerve_ of some people. I huffed before complying, taking the first shirt I saw from my trunk and flinging it on.

"There. I'm ready," I said sullenly. Rose blinked, her mouth dropping open. Hmph. Someone should tell her that going around with your mouth open like that isn't lady like. I should know – I took lady lessons.

Which pretty much makes me a certifiable Queen of England. Oh, stop scoffing. You know it's true!

"There's cat vomit on the stomach area," Rose said, her mouth twitching as she struggled to keep down a smile. I glanced down; oh, yup – that was cat vomit. A pale green/yellow substance was currently crusted over in the center of the pale blue silk. Of course Sir Archibald had chosen this shirt as target practice.

Oh well. Not like I was trying to impress anyone.

I shrugged, saying, "So?" Rose groaned before reaching into her trunk and retrieving the maroon sweater from before.

"Here, you look to be about my size. Wear this," she said. I didn't move; did she honestly think I could fit into that? I wasn't _blind_ – I mean, I ate bacon for every meal while she ate a bloody salad! As in…_rabbit food_.

She rolled her eyes (hm…seems like she was picking up _that_ nasty habit from Potter) before flinging the sweater at me.

"Oof!"

The fuzzy material wrapped itself around my face before plopping down into my arms.

"Hurry up!" she said. "I'll be waiting downstairs. If you're not down in two minutes I _will_ come up there and drag you down myself!" Her eyes shot me one last pointed glare before she turned and flounced out of the dorm.

Merlin's beard. Note to self: don't offend/disturb/aggravate Rose Weasley…actually…Note to self: find some way to get Rose mad at Potter. Then watch and enjoy the resulting attack. Hehehe.

I tugged off the cat-vomit encrusted blouse (Mother should be pleased that I've managed to ruin it in less than a month) and pulled the maroon one on. It was a bit snug, but it still fit comfortably enough. Blargh. I thought longingly of the library's quiet solitude, spared a quick glance at Sir Archibald to make sure he was okay (he was currently viciously pouncing on the last owl pellet), and left the dorm with eighteen agonizingly fast steps.

Well, this should be fun.

xxxxxx

I am going to vomit.

Hurl. Upchuck. Throw up. Whatever you want to call it, it doesn't matter; I'm still going to do it.

I fidgeted, feeling a few splinters struggle to pierce my jeans. The rickety chair was around 38 inches tall and seemed to be around 5 years old, considering the amount the wood had worn down in the middle.

One thoroughly uncomfortable Awesome Adela sat on the right hand end of the table placed next to the largest window in the Three Broomsticks. I gazed at the sickeningly sweet spectacle in front of me; Rose Weasley sat across from me and was currently almost completely on Scorpius's lap. She leaned close to him, and he to her as they both laughed and giggled. I scowled, my arms folding in front of my chest. They were probably talking about prancing ponies and rainbow fairy dust and random rubbish like that.

"I'm going to vomit."

I started, snapping out of the mental image I'd had of me tackling Scorpius to the floor and/or petitioning the Ministry to ban public displays of affection (what? I was just thinking of the innocent children! I was _certainly_ not petitioning that to benefit myself – how could you even suggest such a thing?).

"I swear, if the git gets one _centimeter_ closer to my baby cousin I'll hex his nose off," Potter muttered. I glanced downwards; his fingers were clenching and unclenching around his wand. Well. Looked like _someone_ needed anger management classes.

"How long are we going to have to stomach this?" he mumbled, his eyes still firmly glued on to the scene in front of us.

Thirteen long seconds passed in silence, only interrupted by the soft giggle from the Scorose department (oh Merlin. I'd already spliced their names together).

_Jab_. Something long and blunt jabbed into the left side of my stomach.

"Merlin's beard, that hurt!" I protested. Potter rolled his eyes, still not turning to face me.

"Not my fault you didn't answer the bloody question," he said snidely. I huffed, picking up the spiced pumpkin juice I'd ordered before and sipping from it delicately.

I glanced at my watch; we'd only been at Three Broomsticks for forty minutes and 22 seconds.

Rose and I had arrived at the restaurant (pub? I wasn't entirely clear on what it was) six minutes and 12 seconds late. We met up with the Wotters (all nine billion of them) and Seth's lot before piling around an enlarged table. Gradually people split up (Fred and James dragged off Hugo to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Lily and Dominique went off to some clothing boutique), leaving Seth, Scorpius, Potter, Rose, and I to sit here. Oh, and Seth's latest girlfriend. Honestly, I couldn't keep track of them at this point. I'd tried to do the whole "protective twin sister" act with the first couple of them (each one involving elaborate intimidation strategies in which I mainly just cornered them and threatened them with ol' Bessie), but I gave up after the twelfth one.

I fidgeted again, thinking longingly of the plush seats that lined the library. I shot an annoyed glare in Rose's direction, but she was too busy swooning at "oh, Scorpius, my darling beloved with your beautiful dreamy silver eyes omgzz!" lover boy.

All right, enough was enough. I stood up, flinging two galleons onto the table with a light clatter.

"Right, I'm off!"

No answer. Seth and the Latest Conquest were too busy snogging and Rose and Scorpius were off in their own world. Potter was caught up with imagining Scorpius's head exploding or something (I won't pretend to understand that psychopath).

"Rose, I'll be at Scrivenshaft's if you need me." My words fell on deaf ears.

I sighed before picking up my scarf and wrapping it around my neck.

Maybe Scrivenshaft had received a new quill and just forgotten to tell me. Well, it never hurt to look.

I pushed open the glass door, inhaling sharply when I was affronted with a gust of cold wind. My feet (which were thankfully clad in a pair of snug boots) crunched on a couple dried out leaves as I began the trek to Scrivenshaft's.

"Lancaster, wait!"

I paused, my eyes widening as I saw that Potter had followed me.

"What are you doing?"

"I couldn't stand another moment of that…that…" his voice trailed off and he made a disgusted sound. Well, I could relate to that. We settled into a comfortable walk.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked suddenly. I froze for a second before quickly resuming my walk, my cheeks burning. Was this about the Library Incident? Oh Merlin I'm going to Azkaban, I just know it…

"Um…sure," I said, my voice only slightly higher than normal.

"This might sound crazy, but…did I…did I do something…out of the ordinary at the library?"

My blood seemed to freeze in its tracks, and I stuttered a bit before managing to cough out an answer.

"Um…no, wh-why would you ask that? HAHAHA oh you're joking, aren't you? HAHAHA YOU'RE SO FUNNY!"

Kill me. Kill me now.

Potter eyed me before (thankfully) seeming to accept my answer.

"It's weird, I just…whenever I try to think back to the library to try and remember our lesson plans, I come up with this weird…haze," he continued.

Cue heart attack from the Adela department.

Goodbye, cruel world.

After twenty-two seconds, I wrenched an eye open, expecting to see some sort of golden light from above.

Nope, just Potter's disconcertingly green eyes.

"Merlin, Lancaster! Are you all right?" he asked, his voice clouded with worry. I blinked, becoming aware that I had collapsed into a leaf pile.

Well, at least this seemed to have distracted him. I stood up, ignoring his offered hand (he probably was just going to push me back down if I took it).

"Just dandy," I said shortly. He looked as if he was about to say something, but he shut his mouth and nodded tersely, his face seeming to close off.

"Of course you are."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? I shot him a look, but he refused to meet my eyes.

"Let's just get to Scrivenshaft's," he said. Fine. Two could play at that game.

We began walking again, but this time it was filled with a tenseness that had not been present before.

Well, it seemed like things were back to normal.

**An: Thank you for reading! As always, please review! **


	23. Quills of a Feather

**Quills of a Feather**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! This chapter took forever to write…stupid writer's block haha**

_Ring_.

I pushed open the door, glancing up to catch a slight flash as the silver bell rang.

I blinked, squinting to adjust to the sudden darkness. The shop was dusty; the only light source came from blurred windows. I inhaled deeply, smiling as the scent of old feathers whirled around.

Mmm.

"Miss Lancaster!"

I smiled, turning 39˚ to the right to face the speaker. Mr. Scrivenshaft stood before me, a wide grin on his wrinkled face. I chose to believe that he was happy to see me as a person and not because I was his best customer.

"Hi, Mr. Scrivenshaft," I said easily before heading towards the mahogany counter on which he usually displayed new arrivals.

"Anything new?"

My question was more for tradition's sake, really. I knew that he didn't have any new arrivals; after all, he hadn't sent an owl notifying me.

Silence.

I turned, pinning the elderly man with my fiercest gaze (I've dubbed it Adela No. 3. Adela Numbers 1 and 2 are a bit weaker…I save those for Seth).

He fidgeted, casting his watery blue eyes downward.

You see, dear un-judgmental audience (HA YEAH RIGHT. YOU JUDGERS. SHAME ON YOU), Scrivenshaft loves quills just as much as I do (makes sense, seeing as he owns a bloody quill shop). Which means if a particularly nice quill happens to pop up, he won't sell it.

Potter shuffled his way over, standing silently behind me. Scrivenshaft eyed him curiously before saying, "And who is this?"

Potter inhaled sharply for 0.3 seconds before quickly muffling his sound. The superficial git was probably surprised that someone didn't recognize him. Prat.

"Oh, he's no one of importance," I said flippantly, smirking to myself when I heard Potter's mutters from directly behind me.

Hehehe.

Scrivenshaft asked another question about Potter. I began to answer it, but Numberita caught up – wait. He was trying to distract me!

I frowned, crossing my arms and glaring at him once more.

Scrivenshaft sighed in defeat.

"Alright, Miss Lancaster. I did happen to get a new shipment today," he said wearily. I grinned, clapping my hands for 2 seconds.

Scrivenshaft indicated that I should wait here (as if I was going to leave any time soon. Sorry, Scrivenshaft. I'm not leaving yet) before ducking underneath the musty maroon curtain towards the back of the store.

I bounced 2 cm up on the balls of my feet before dropping back down.

MAJESTIC QUILL HERE I CO-

Wait. How in Merlin's beard was I supposed to pay for it? I frowned, my forehead creasing as Numberita totaled up my current savings. Hm…in Gringotts I had approximately 201 galleons, 32 sickles, and 12 knutts; this was all money I'd received before the whole Sorting. Well…not including the 5 galleons I get every year from Uncle Mortimer. But Uncle Mortimer always had been a bit queer.

That money had to last me until the end of Hogwarts…at which point I'd sell everything I owned and head out to do whatever poor Adelas do.

Something told me I wouldn't be able to fulfill my dream job of whacking people with ol' Bessie. Seriously – how awesome would that be? Getting paid for tackling people would be bloody fantastic!

Right, moving on.

OH GOSH IF I DO NOT GET THIS QUILL I WILL JUST CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND SOB. AND SOBBING ADELAS ARE NOT HAPPY ADELAS.

"What's wrong?"

Huh? I turned to Potter, lifting my eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, three seconds ago you were grinning like a lunatic and now you look like you're about to burst into tears," he said matter-of-factly. Eh. It was technically thirteen seconds ago…but I, being the generous person I am, was going to let it go.

Oh, stop laughing.

I huffed, rearranging my face into a haughty expression I'd learned at lady classes (hey – looks like they _were_ good for something after all!).

"I don't know what you're talking about," I sniffed. He rolled his eyes before turning to the shelf behind him. I shuffled forward 5 inches, craning my neck to watch what he was doing.

Potter ran his fingers lightly over the display of owl feathers, pausing at a particularly fine pure white one.

"This one's nice," he remarked. I edged a bit closer (3 cm) to better examine the feather, holding my breath so I wouldn't accidentally inhale Essence of Potter No. 5. What? I think it's a pretty catchy name! Well…maybe it would be better to put "Awesome Adela" somewhere in the title…but I still had time to think of a good name!

The feather he was pointing to had the ribbed lining characteristic of a barn owl's. Huh – Potter had good taste! Usually barn owls had off-white feathers dusted with a few brown flecks, but this one was so white it almost glowed.

"Barn owl, approximately 2 years old and 3 months, give or take a few days," I recited.

Potter shot me a disbelieving look. I steadfastly ignored it, flushing a bit as I felt his eyes on my face. Merlin, that bloke needs to look away _right now_ or I was going to bring ol' Bessie out.

After 2 tense seconds, Potter looked back down at the quill.

"You know, I need a new quill anyway. Might as well pick one up now," he decided, nimbly picking up the feather by its sharp tip. He paused, turning to face me again.

"Wait. Does it pass the Adela test?" he asked. I stared; was he really asking _me_ for approval? Who on earth was this bloke and what he done to Potter?

Potter looked at me expectantly for another 12 seconds before rolling his eyes and adding, "Sorry – Does it pass the _Awesome_ Adela test?" He grinned cheekily, his eyes sparkling – sparkling! Honestly. They were like bloody fairy lights!

Well, whoever this imposter was, I certainly liked him better than Potter!

I nodded, still too shocked to speak. Potter looked a bit uncomfortable, seeming to realize just how surprised I was.

"Right, I'll just go buy this then," he said slowly, edging a bit farther away from me.

Way to go, Adela. You've managed to scare off the Improved Potter No. 2.

I deserve an award.

"Miss Lancaster?"

I turned 180˚, stopping when I faced the curtains lining the back of the shop.

Scrivenshaft stood 9 feet in front of me, gingerly holding a maroon box.

"Here it is," he whispered reverently.

My breath caught in my throat, all thoughts of Potter fleeing from my mind as I approached Scrivenshaft.

He placed the slim box carefully on a nearby oak table, lifting the lid with trembling fingers. We both leaned towards the box.

I peered downwards, gasping softly when I saw what lay nestled between soft bunches of burgundy velvet.

A shimmering, pearly white feather lay within. The feather shape resembled that of a bald eagle's, but the feather tips tapered off into soft tufts while an eagle's feathers remained razor sharp to the end. The shaft was a pale pink/purple, navy blue splotches seeming to swirl around. The feathers were a smooth, creamy white, but if I craned my neck I could make out subtle flecks of every hue that shifted as the sunlight played against it. It was odd…they had that pearly luminescence that only opals had.

I stretched out a trembling finger to touch it gingerly. The feathers were cool and supple under my touch, giving way slightly as I stroked it.

Holy hippogriffs.

This quill was bloody amazing; I'd never seen anything like it! It almost resembled my prized golden quill, but rather than sharing a precious metal's qualities, this one appeared to be an opal in feather form.

It also probably cost thousands of galleons.

I looked up, asking the dreaded question.

"How much is it?"

Scrivenshaft hummed, tapping a gnarled finger against his thin mouth.

"Hm…well, this is the first quill of its kind that I've ever seen – have you ever seen a feather that so resembles a precious gemstone? I've never heard of anything like it!"

Well, he'd probably also never heard of a golden quill before either…but I certainly wasn't about to tell him about it; something stopped me from sharing my quill's properties with everyone.

"-It'll have to be 1000 galleons," he continued.

WHAT?

I spluttered for 23 seconds, unable to speak. He was joking, right? No quill could be worth that much money! That was the same amount you got for winning the Triwizard Tournament, for Merlin's sake!

Oh, he _was _joking – he had to be!

"OH HAHAHAHA GOOD ONE SCRIVENSHAFT!" I bellowed, banging my hand against the table and struggling to stop laughing.

Scrivenshaft looked scandalized, and he quickly placed the lid back on the box before sliding it towards him protectively.

"Miss Lancaster, I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he sniffed, hugging the box to his chest.

Holy hippogriffs. He was serious?!

I paled, my laugh dying out as he stared at me. Numberita ran some quick calculations; I still needed approximately 800 galleons.

"Mr. Scrivenshaft," I began, my voice becoming more desperate.

"I absolutely _must_ have that quill!"

Scrivenshaft looked pained, his wrinkled mouth pursing a bit as he thought.

After 68 seconds, he sighed wearily before saying, "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Lancaster, but I just cannot let this go for less than 800 galleons."

He really did look sorry…and suddenly I realized what Potter meant when he said "I don't need your pity."

Because anger? Anger was something I could handle. Pity? No.

I stiffened before spitting out a cold, "Good day" before turning on my heel and striding out the door.

Potter hurried to catch up to me, his warm hand grasping my arm lightly.

"Lancaster."

I ignored him, becoming increasingly angry as I thought of that quill – that quill I would never be able to own. It wasn't even really the quill itself that made me so incensed – after all, I didn't really _need_ it. It was the principle that really angered me; quills were the last things I had to remember my childhood. How could Scrivenshaft not _see_ that?

"Lancaster!" He whirled me around 180˚ so that I faced him. I glared, my feet becoming increasingly cold as the water from the damp leaves underfoot seeped through my shoes.

"What?" I snapped. He opened his mouth for 0.8 seconds before closing it again and glancing around.

After 18 seconds he appeared satisfied that there weren't any people around (oh, Merlin – he probably wanted to check for witnesses. The bloke was planning on murdering me!) before pulling me towards a side road that I hadn't noticed before.

I scowled, muttering out protests as my feet pounded against the cobbled street.

Well.

Isn't this wonderful? This is _exactly_ how I wanted to spend my Hogwarts trip.

Sarcasm is always fun. Note to self: think of ways to incorporate more sarcasm into my life. Write said ways into Awesome Journal.

"Gah!"

Potter yanked me suddenly to the right. I stumbled over a tree root before collapsing on the damp ground.

"What in the Merlin's beard are you _doing_?" I shouted. He shushed me – _me_, Awesome Adela! – before sitting down next to me. I spluttered indignantly for another 35 seconds before gazing around.

Whoa.

What _was_ this place? We were in a small alleyway, but it somehow didn't feel claustrophobic at all. The narrow entryway widened into a large enclosed rectangle. Grass was laid out instead of cobblestone, and sunlight streamed down in big golden pools. Small trees of every hue dotted the area, and the light tinkling of wind chimes sang out into the silence.

Noticing my questioning look, Potter smiled softly.

"I found it in Third Year after a particularly bad fight with…well, I found it anyway," he said, his fingers running absent-mindedly through a pile of crinkled leaves.

I shot him a sharp look; that fight was with James. I'd heard about it – I hadn't actually gone to Hogsmeade, of course, but even I wasn't unaware of the various gossip floating around. Apparently James called Potter a Slytherin traitor and things escalated from there.

Well, I wasn't going to bring it up; he hadn't mentioned the whole quill thing, so I suppose I owed him for that.

"Why is that opal quill so important to you?"

Or not.

Darn him.

"What do you mean?" I asked casually, steadfastly avoiding his gaze.

"Adela."

Huh? Had he just…? I whipped my head around to stare at him. Potter looked a bit surprised himself, but after 3.4 seconds he blinked and said, "Well, we might as well refer to each other by our actual names. Merlin knows how long we've done this whole last name thing."

I blinked.

Huh.

My name sounded…different when he said it. Numberita couldn't really explain it. It was a nice feeling, almost like being immersed in a velvety smooth warm pool on a cold day.

Then reality hit. I couldn't be _friends _with Al-Potter. Not after the whole obliviate thing.

"-eed to let it go."

What?

"What did you just say?"

He rolled his eyes. Well, at least _that_ part hadn't changed. He was still the obsessive roller-eyer. If that was even a word. Numberita said it wasn't. Note to self: petition the Oxford English Dictionary to add it. Bribe them with chocolate.

"I _said_, you need to let that quill go. Merlin knows you have loads more where that came from," he said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he quickly added, "Look, Lan-Adela. I understand the whole thing about the father – believe me, I can understand the whole familial disapproval thing. But honestly – is buying loads of quills really the answer?"

I nodded yes. The bloke was a bloody hypocrite – he went around just full of angst because of James. Besides, it wasn't as if his whole family was like that – at least his parents _talked_ to him. They didn't threaten to disown him.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"Adela. I've done that too, okay? When James first started getting…well, you know how he is…I would spend hours on the Pitch. I made it a personal goal to catch the Snitch as many times as I could. I started picturing the Snitch as his acceptance...pathetic, right?" he laughed, his hands wringing his cotton shirt.

Before I could stop myself, my hand shot forward 4.9 inches and rested on his. He stopped twisting his shirt, glancing down at my hand before shooting me a questioning look.

Oh bloody Merlin. NUMBERITA HURRY UP AND CATCH UP.

I yanked my hand back, flushing furiously.

"It's not pathetic," I found myself saying. He smiled in a self-deprecating way before resting his chin on his crossed arms.

He clearly didn't believe me; for some reason, this made me even angrier. What? Even Awesome Adelas can't stand not being taken seriously!

"Pot-Al-_Albus_."

He looked up, clearly surprised that I said his name. Merlin, we are pathetic – what kind of people get so surprised by someone uttering their bloody _name_, for Voldemort's sake?

I barreled through, determined to make him see reason. Or at least Awesome Adela's version of reason.

"If Seth was like that, I don't know what I'd do. Already it's hard enough feeling like he never notices me. I feel like every time I say hi to him, he's just thinking that I'm a pathetic attention seeker. The sibling that can't seem to get friends of her own. So I can sort of relate. Al, listen. I _know _James's words affect you – I won't bother trying to say it doesn't. And you know what? That's _okay_. He's your bloody brother, for Merlin's sake! If anything, James is the ignorant git for doing this to you. You are loads better than him. Even with your whole pride complex and annoyingly cocky smirks, you're still better than a person who would denounce his own brother for a bloody Sorting!"

He blinked, seeming to be in shock from my rather lengthy rant.

Oh Merlin, I've gone and done it. Now he probably thinks I'm an even greater psychopath. I breathed heavily, panting slightly after my long tirade. Oh lord, I really am out of shape. Poor Wood.

"Erm…so don't blame yourself, okay?" I finished lamely. He blinked again before smiling.

"All right."

Huh? No scared looks, no running away?

He leaned over and wrapped me in a warm hug.

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS WHAT WAS HAPPENING? NO POTTERS DO NOT HUG PEOPLE. THEY SULK AND BANG THEIR HEAD ON THE WALL. THEY DEFINITELY DO NOT SHOW ANY FORM OF AFFECTION FOR ADELAS. GAH. GAH. GAH.

I let out a soft "eep!" as I stared wide-eyed at the stone wall behind Potter.

"Thanks, Adela," he whispered, his warm breath brushing the top of my ear. I shivered for 2 seconds before realizing where I was and freezing. Dear Merlin please let him not have felt that. No reason to give him any more ammunition against me.

After another 5 seconds he released me, my stomach feeling oddly cold with his absence.

"Do you reckon it's time to head back?" I asked, my voice shaking a bit.

He nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable himself.

I made to leave, but a warm hand on my right elbow stopped me.

"Adela…thank you."

"You've thanked me three times already," I pointed out. He laughed, the clear sound echoing off of the sunlit walls.

"Friends?"

OH MERLIN NO. The word escaped my lips before I could stop them. I couldn't be friends with him – every second I spent with him was a second where he could find out the truth!

Al didn't seem to notice my inner turmoil, for he grinned before saying, "Friends."

Joy to the world.

This should be an interesting few months.

**AN: Thank you for reading! Updates will be slower from now on as I slog through exams/papers/etc. Woo…not. Anyway, please please please review! **


	24. OMGZZ POTTER IN SLYTHERIN

**OMGZZ POTTER IN SLYTHERIN**

** Author Note: Thanks to everyone for reading/reviewing! I'm still overwhelmed by the sheer number of hits/reviews! I've started a new fanfic (for Hunger Games) called "Difficult" if you want to check it out c; /shameless advertisement Thanks again to my fantastic beta LovinMaya!**

"You know, we never did finish the whole quill discussion."

"Blargh."

"Blargh?"

"Blargh."

Po-Al (Merlin, I still can't get used to the whole name thing) laughed again. I blinked; it was still so odd to hear him laugh like that. Usually he just scowled and moped around. Merlin knows I've seen home sulking around my house way too many times over the summer (I kept telling Seth to bring his friends somewhere _other_ than the sanctuary of my house, but he just laughed whenever I said that).

We exited the side road, my feet slipping a bit on the blanket of leaves underfoot. There were fewer Hogwarts students milling about now; judging by the sun's position and the number of students, it looked as if it was around 3 PM. Students weren't required to leave Hogsmeade until 6 PM, but it looked like people were heading back early to get ready for the whole Halloween party the Gryffindors were throwing.

Bah.

Stupid Gryffindors.

Al seemed to realize the same thing Numberita did, as he said, "Looks like everyone's getting ready for the party my brother's holding."

I nodded, my eyes trained on the ground ahead so I wouldn't trip and fall.

"Adela, are yo-"

"ALBUS!"

I glanced up; a full head of curly blonde hair hurled towards us. I shot a quick look at Al; he looked slightly stricken, and he was quickly looking around for an escape route.

I felt sort of bad for him. Sort of. Not enough to help him escape.

Hehehe.

"ALBUS!" Blondie breathed, having caught up with us. She bent over slightly, struggling to catch her breath. Huh. She looked sort of familiar…she straightened, revealing perfect freckles, a small nose, and ocean blue/grey eyes. She gazed at him with a love-struck expression in her eyes, completely ignoring me.

Why did she look so familiar…?

Oh! She was in my dorm!

What was her name? Before Numberita could remember, she began speaking again.

"Can I have your autograph?"

I winced; oh, Merlin, from what I knew about Al, he was _not_ going to like this. I snuck another glance at him; yup, his face had closed off and he had that stormy look in his eyes again.

"No," he said shortly before grabbing my arm and dragging me off. I glanced back, stumbling a bit as he pulled me along. The girl looked crestfallen, her pretty rosebud mouth quivering for 3 seconds before she noticed me watching. She ran off, her shining hair bouncing behind her.

What _was_ her name?

Oh! Numberita bounced around gleefully as I remembered – Selia.

After 99 seconds of Al pulling and Awesome Adela stumbling, Al finally slowed down enough for us to walk comfortably. About time. Git.

"What was that about?"

Al stiffened, opening his mouth (probably to utter some snappy retort) before closing it again and sighing wearily.

Hey! Progress! The Before Al would have flipped me off before abandoning me.

"I hate when people pay attention to me just because of my last name," he said finally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Well…I could understand that. I could understand wanting to be known for _you_ and not what your parents/ancestors did. Plus, there was the whole "OMGZZ A POTTER IN SLYTHERIN?" thing. Merlin, no wonder Al was so angsty!

"That sucks," I began. He didn't reply, simply moving forward as we walked up the path towards Hogwarts. But still…I felt a bit bad for Selia. From what I could recall, she was always (annoyingly) sweet.

"I think you really hurt her feelings," I said.

He stiffened before shaking his head quickly, dislodging a few dark curls so they fell across his eyes. I had the sudden urge to brush them away. GAH NO. Awesome Adela, focus! I clenched my hands so I wouldn't be tempted, my cheeks burning as I quickly stared at the trees surrounding the path.

"Not my problem," he said finally, his voice devoid of any emotion. Well. Rude. I decided to tell him that; after all, since when am I known to censor myself? NEVER I TELL YOU. NEVER.

"Rude."

He laughed again before casually slinging a warm arm around my shoulders.

Honestly. Did this boy fall victim to a Confundus or something? SINCE WHEN DOES HE HUG PEOPLE/INITIATE PHYSICAL CONTACT?

Al was quickly breaking out of his box – no, he was laying Muggle explosives on it, setting them off, and setting it on fire; Numberita did not like it one bit.

My cheeks burned even more (if that was even possible) as we walked. Thank Merlin – there weren't any other students on the paths, the majority having already left and the rest probably buying up last minute chocolate from Honeydukes.

I waited for 34 seconds to see if Al would drop his arm, but he didn't. I could make out the grey stone of Hogwarts now. Was he going to stay like this as we walked in? _I_ certainly wasn't going to be subject to years of torture from his fan club just because he couldn't stop doing…whatever this was.

Besides, this whole…friendship thing was a bad idea. My wand burned from its place within the pocket of my jeans as I remembered the whole Obliviate thing. How could I stand to be this close to the bloke I'd obliviated without permission?

Guilt stabbed its way through my gut, and I nimbly stepped out from underneath Al's arm.

He looked confused for 0.3 seconds before closing off his face again, the typical unreadable expression (trademarked by the Before Potter, of course) slipping back on.

"Don't want to send off the wrong idea," I explained awkwardly, stopping just in front of the doors leading into Hogwarts.

He nodded coolly before pushing the doors open.

I watched his retreating back for 12 seconds, a sickening feeling still worming its way down my stomach.

Oh Merlin. I knew this was a bad idea.

xxxxx

"ADELA. HELP MEEE!"

I started from my reverie, looking up to see Rose Weasley's distraught face approximately 8.9 inches away – a distance _way_ too small for Numberita's liking. After Al and I had gotten back to Hogwarts, he'd disappeared off into the Slytherin dungeons while I headed towards the Great Hall for some food. What? A girl has to have her priorities straight! I needed my bacon refill. After spending 10 minutes and 29 seconds stocking up on various bacon-related foods (the elves had brought out a new bacon pastry that tasted absolutely divine), I headed up to the Tower where I munched on my food in total bliss and _peace_. Until that moment 39 minutes later (present time, actually) when Rose Weasley and the rest of my dorm mates came barreling through the door to prepare last minute costume adjustments.

Woo.

Not.

"What?"

She backed off 14 inches, huffing before bending down and rummaging through her trunk again.

Whoa. Her previously obsessively neat trunk now rivaled my own in messiness.

She hurled various shirts from the trunk onto the rapidly growing pile by her feet.

"I don't know what to wear!" she wailed, her face appearing from the depths of the trunk before quickly submerging again.

Sigh. I AM A BEATER I TELL YOU. I do _not_ need to be helping people with clothes!

I AM A BEATER. A BEATER. A BEATER.

"Wear what you were wearing today," I suggested. Rose's red hair popped back out of her wooden truck as she looked at me.

"What?"

She huffed before shaking her head, her hair bouncing around violently.

"It's a _Halloween_ party, Adela!" she said, her voice just full of (unneeded, mind you!) exasperation.

"So?"

She threw her hands up 12 inches in the air.

"_So_, you need a costume! Which reminds me – what are you wearing?"

I shrugged; "I'm not going."

Her mouth dropped open 3.5 cm.

"_What_?"

I winced; Merlin, her voice was loud. I thought wistfully of the total quiet that had been present in this room a little over half an hour ago. Sigh…

I looked down at Sir Archibald's tufted tail; Rose must have scared him. He always hides under the bed after a particularly loud noise.

"Well, I'm not much of a party type," I explained, closing my Awesome Journal and placing it underneath my pillow. Note to self: Come up with a better hiding place.

Rose's lip quivered, and she shot a quick glance at the three other girls inhabiting the room to make sure they weren't watching. I looked with her; nope, they were all busy giggling/shoving each other out of the way so they could get a better look at themselves in the mirror. The blonde girl – Selia, was it? – seemed to have recovered from the events of earlier today, as she was currently pursing her lips at herself in the mirror.

Satisfied that they weren't eavesdropping, she jumped onto my bed and whispered, "_Adela_, what if I need your help with you-know-who?"

I blinked; huh?

"Why would Voldemort be there?"

She smacked her forehead with her left palm, letting it rest there for 2 seconds before it fell into her lap. She gave me an exasperated look. What? IT WAS A PERFECTLY LOGICAL THING TO THINK, OKAY.

"Scorpius, you idiot!"

Oh. Hey, that's right – she never did tell me how the whole Hogsmeade thing went. Well, it must have gone well, seeing as she and Scorpius never bloody looked away from each other.

She blushed, her pale cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

Hmph. Why couldn't _I_ blush like that? I usually just end up looking like an angry tomato. That's on fire.

I attempted to waggle my eyebrows suggestively (something I'd seen Scorpius done numerous times before), but gave up when Rose looked like she was about to send me to the Infirmary Wing for fear of insanity.

Which, you know, you can never really rule out.

Oh, sod off.

"Do something feminine, then. Maybe something flowy and elegant. Scorp likes that sort of stuff," I suggested, thinking back to that time in Fourth Year when I caught Scorp ogling the painting of Lady Genevieve (a rather famous witch from medieval times) displayed at the museum.

She paused, shooting me a weird look before nodding and smiling.

"I'll do that, thanks!"

She grabbed a long, expensive-looking black dress from her trunk. Rose expertly slid her wand from its place in the pocket of her robes before narrowing her eyes in concentration. I watched her idly, noting how complicated her movements were. Light blue sparks trailed down from the tip of her oak wand, flashing briefly before getting absorbed into the fabric. The dress became gauzy, the color lightening to a deep emerald green. A spool of glistening gold thread popped out of her trunk and began unraveling itself, the end weaving itself delicately into intricate patterns and trailing its way up to the bodice.

Blargh. Why couldn't I be that good at Transfiguration?

13 minutes and 22 seconds later, Rose nodded, sighing a bit as she dropped her wand onto her bed.

"There," she said, lifting up the Transfigured dress.

"Well, put it on!" I urged, curiousity igniting Numberita.

She obliged, sliding the delicate fabric up and pulling her hair out of the way.

Holy hippogriffs.

ALL RIGHT THIS ISN'T FAIR. SERIOUSLY – SOME PEOPLE HOGGED ALL OF THE BEAUTY SUPPLY. UNFAIR. REBELLION. REVOLT. DOWN WITH THE MACHI-right, maybe I've been reading too many Muggle books.

She smiled nervously, her pale, slender hands smoothing the fabric.

"Well?" she asked.

"You look great," I said honestly. She beamed before rushing forward to give me a hug.

Oof. Not sure if I'm used to this whole friend thing yet.

"Now, you need a costume!"

I opened my mouth to protest, but she shook her head vigorously.

"No."

I blinked.

"No?"

"No." Rose crossed her arms, pinning me with a death stare that her Grandmother was so famous for.

I gulped; where was ol' Bessie when I needed her? Wood had confiscated her after practice for "maintenance work." The git probably just didn't want to be blamed for me tackling another first year. Hmph.

Rose strode over to my trunk, flicking it open and wrinkling her nose a bit at the mess within. Eh. Mess was good – it proved that I was a creative soul! Yeah, that was it! I was an _artist_ - I had the right to be all mopey/violent/messy. Hehehe. Well, I _was _a master at the _art_ of tackling. That counts!

Oh, go away.

"Aha!"

I glanced over to see what had caused Rose's triumphant yell. Oh no. Rose held the dress Scorpius had gotten for me for my combo Christmas/birthday present (the cheap prat only coughed up one gift per year. My birthday was in the _spring_, for Merlin's sake!) back in fifth year. It had been a particularly thoughtful gift…well, it would have been if it hadn't been about six inches too large in the bust area and three inches too small in the waist area. Or the fact that it was skintight. Sexist git.

The stretchy scarlet material bunched up near her hands as she waved it energetically.

"No," I said firmly.

Her look of excitement quickly changed to crestfallen disappointment.

"No?"

"No." I shot her my best imitation of the Weasley glare.

She sighed, slowly folding the dress up neatly. Ha! Not so nice to be on the receiving end of that, is it? Hehehe.

Rose's head disappeared back down into the depths of my trunk as she searched. I glanced at my watch; the party was supposed to start in six minutes and 12 seconds. The other three girls had already left.

I didn't want Rose to be late for her chance to meet with Scorpius.

"Rose, you should go," I said, hugging my pajama-clad knees to my chest.

"Aha!"

Oh Merlin.

"Wear this," she ordered, throwing a pile of fabric towards me. I yanked it from my face, peering down at it.

Oh…oh!

It was the Quidditch jersey of Gwenog Jones, only the best beater of all time! I'd forgotten all about this one! I grinned, pulling it on over the navy tank top I currently wore.

"Perfect, thanks Rose!"

She smiled, a determined glint coming into her eye.

"Now, about your face…"

Oh no…

xxxxx

"Whoa," Rose breathed.

I gazed at my reflection, leaning a bit closer and staring in disbelief. Rose had done something with my face to make it look…pretty.

"You look great!" she squealed.

"You look decent," came a high voice from behind us. Rose and I whirled around 180˚ to see Selia's impeccably made up face. She smiled, the gesture a bit strained.

"I'm sure Al will be impressed," she sniffed, jealousy coloring her voice as she thrust her nose high up in the air. Huh. So she _had_ noticed me.

Rose shot me a questioning look, which I ignored. Selia left, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

"What's this about Al?" Rose asked. I cringed; the second Rose uttered his name, memories of the Obliviate incident flooded Numberita.

I took out my wand, waving it at my face and erasing all traces of makeup; it wasn't me. I'd never worn it before, and I wasn't about to start now. Not for some stupid party that I didn't even want to go to.

"Rose…I…I've done a bad thing!" I cried, flinging myself into her arms. She stood for a moment, stiffening as she thought.

"You…you're not pregnant, are you?" she whispered.

_WHAT?_

I yanked myself away, shouting, "No!"

Rose looked visibly relieved.

Suddenly it all seemed too much – the secrets, the Sorting, the quills, the Obliviate incident. I had to tell _someone_.

"Rose, I…I obliviated Al!" I wailed. Rose's eyes widened and she quickly strode to the door of the bathroom and slammed it shut, muttering a quick _Muffliato_ before returning to me.

"_What?_!" she shrieked.

And suddenly the words just poured out; I told her everything – well, everything except the dirty laundry about my father. _That_ no one really knew about. And I wanted to keep it like that.

Rose sank to the floor, her mouth still open.

"Merlin, Adela…" she breathed.

"What do I do?" I choked out, my hands wringing themselves on the metal armrests of the chair.

"You need to tell him," she said firmly. I flinched; what? I couldn't do that! Not…not when we'd finally reached an understanding!

"Adela, listen. The _worst _thing you can do to Al is lie to him. He has all these…trust issues, I suppose. And from what Selia just said, he's starting to trust you. If you wait too long…" her voice trailed off, leaving the rest of her sentence unsaid. But, of course, being the smart person I am – Numberita understood it all too well.

"I-I can't, Rose."

Rose looked disapproving, but suddenly I was sick of it – I was _angry_. How dare she try and barge into my life and dictate what I do? How dare she judge me? She didn't know _anything_ about me!

I stood up suddenly and stalked out of the bathroom, knowing that if I stayed in that room another moment I would be saying things I would regret later.

Calm, Adela. Calm.

I grabbed my wand from its place on my bedside table, shoved it into the pockets of my jeans, and headed off in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Time to crash a party.

**AN: Thanks for reading! As always – please review! **


	25. Seizure Lights

**Seizure Lights**

** Author Note: Thanks for reviewing/reading! **

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

I winced, the loud music currently emanating from within the portrait resounding painfully against my ears. Oh, dear Merlin, why on earth was I not in the library right now – or better yet, eating some delicious bacon?

"Honey, are you going to come in or not?"

I looked upwards; the rather voluptuous lady from before stared down at me disapprovingly. Bloody painting.

The lady smoothed the shiny pink silk gown she was wearing and tittered with someone behind her. I squinted, barely making out a rather bony woman behind her dressed in purple.

"Violet, can you believe these students? I swear they get dumber every year!" she stage-whispered, swinging her wine glass around dramatically.

I stiffened; she did _not_ just say that. Numberita steamed, incensed at the stab at our intelligence.

I thought longingly of ol' Bessie, who was probably residing somewhere at the bottom of Wood's smelly trunk underneath his multitude of Quidditch magazines and soiled jerseys.

Note to self: kill Wood.

"I'm…I'm going in," I said firmly. The lady rolled her eyes before taking another swig from her glass and opening up the portrait.

I stared at the dark opening behind the portrait for 3.2 seconds before advancing the 5 inches needed to reach the wall. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my right foot 6.2 inches and stepped inside.

Holy hippogriffs. I blinked, disoriented from the sudden darkness. Flashes of neon colored light illuminated the room at dispersed intervals (Numberita soon calculated them to be approximately once every three seconds, with the blue ones flashing every six seconds), casting everything in seizure-inducing (honestly – what if someone here had epilepsy or something? Gryffindors – idiots, the lot of them) shadows and lights.

Gah! Someone jostled me from behind.

I whirled around, my hand reaching for the (painfully) empty spot at my hip where ol' Bessie usually resided.

HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS AHH IT BURNS! Seth stumbled past me, his arm around some dark-haired girl I vaguely recognized as being a Seventh Year Ravenclaw and his tongue – well, let's just say I wasn't going to be forgetting that moment any time soon.

Ew. Ew. Ew.

Thoroughly disgusted, I carefully edged my way towards the long, orange-and-black draped table at the other end of the room (approximately forty feet in diameter) – hey! Maybe there would be bacon!

Hm…I scanned the length of the table, noting that it was about four feet long and one foot deep. Cake…cupcakes…drinks (lots of alcohol...no pumpkin juice unfortunately. Note to self: complain to whoever organized th-wait. James organised this…on second thought, maybe not; I wasn't sure what to think about James. How could the same bloke who had been thoughtful enough to find and return my quills be the same one who treated his younger brother so despicably? It just didn't add up…Numberita was determined to get to the bottom of it)…but no bacon.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

I huffed angrily, crossing my arms across the smooth fabric of my Quidditch jersey and tapping my foot three times against the scarlet carpet underneath.

I observed my surroundings; dozens of students were at various stages of inebriation and I counted at least eight "nurses" scantily clad in garments that I was sure did not pass medical standards. I bet they wouldn't grow up to be actual doctors – I didn't recognize them to be Ravenclaws, and _I_ certainly didn't want some idiot Hufflepuff taking care of me. She'd probably just prattle on about "friendship" while I lay there bleeding to death.

Oh gosh. I thought back to Numberita's accusations about Rose; here I was, doing the exact same thing I accused her of – judging people! I didn't really know anything about them. I had no right to- psh, who am I kidding? AWESOME ADELA DOES NOT BALK AT SOCIETAL RESTRICTIONS.

I had the sudden urge to stand up on the table and bellow an impromptu sonnet (in perfect iambic pentameter, mind you) on the virtues of bacon.

I restrained myself. Barely.

Feeling a bit bored (and Numberita was not immune to the dizzying effects of the flashing lights), I wandered over towards the back of the portrait again. Maybe I could still have time to sneak a quick trip to the kitchens! All this thinking of bacon left me with a huge craving that only a rasher of crispy bacon could cure.

Mmm.

Drat! I caught a flash of Rose's signature curly auburn hair. If I left now, Rose would see me and confront me about the whole Al thing. I cringed inwardly, pushing all thoughts of the Obliviate incident from Numberita. I'd think about it later – Numberita would figure it out! She always did.

Huh…that was weird. Rose wasn't with Scorpius. I would have thought the two lovebirds would be off in some corner by no-GAH MENTAL IMAGES GAH. I rubbed furiously at my eyes, shaking my head vigorously (and managing to knock some Second Year Hufflepuff off his feet and into the punch bowl. Oops).

Blargh. Note to self: stop coming up with these disgusting mental images.

By this time Rose had disappeared in the throngs of shifting teenagers. I sighed, feeling a bit alone. I wasn't close to anyone here…I edged my way to the wall, hugging it with relief when I finally managed it. Finally, something that _wasn't_ moving!

Feeling a bit drowsy, I leaned against the wall, idly observing the partygoers with detached curiousity. Hm…it seemed like the Scamander twins were trying to convince some poor Third Year of the existence of some mythical creature again. Wood was off in a corner trying to convince Nico to "just come over here and look at this one play!" I laughed a bit at that; seemed like Wood was exactly like his father in that aspect…although, you wouldn't catch _me_ saying that aloud to him. There are certain boundaries that you just do not cross; I might get annoyed at him (which reminded me – he still had ol' Bessie!), but I would never bring up his parents.

After 13 minutes and 49 seconds of observation (Numberita picked up quite a few interesting tidbits that had serious blackmail potential), a heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder. I resisted the urge to whirl around and stab the person's eyes out (what – the whole Forbidden Forest creepy stalker incident still left me a bit jumpy!), instead looking over to see Scorpius's clearly inebriated face.

Oh joy.

Why do I always get stuck with the drunk ones?

"Scorp, really?" I said wearily. He smiled dreamily, a lock of the signature Malfoy white-blonde hair drifting over his silver eyes.

"Hi, Gwenog. You know your team is rubbish, right?" he slurred. Huh? He jabbed his finger half-heartedly at my stomach. Oh, right. I was wearing a Gwenog Jones jersey.

Merlin. Dear Karma: WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS? I caught sight of the clear glass he clutched in his hand, scowled, and smacked it from his grasp. It shattered against the wall, spilling the amber liquid onto the carpet. The liquid hissed slightly, steam curling upwards as it was absorbed into the red fabric.

"_Firewhiskey_, Scorpius? How many of those have you _had_?"

His face screwed up in an expression of intense concentration (it would have been quite comical, actually, had it been in different circumstances).

"Six," he said finally, lifting his hands and proudly displaying eight pale fingers. I resisted the urge to smack my head against the wall.

Well, Adela, look what's happened. You decided to go to a party and look who's left dealing with Drunk Scorpius!

Shut it, Numberita.

No!

Yes!

…

Dear Merlin I need some time away from all of this.

And _no_, I will _not _go to St. Mungo's for mental help so stop suggesting that!

I hoisted Scorpius's arm around my shoulder and began dragging him towards the portrait. Thankfully, I was only around 7 feet and 1 inch away from it; any farther and I don't think I (even with my Beater muscles) could have done it.

"I dun wanna goo," he whined, his alcohol-infused breath wafting over my nose and giving it a good punch.

I resisted the urge to gag, instead pushing his face roughly away.

Scorpius owed me for this. Big time.

I paused at the threshold of the painting, noting the slight ledge. Hm.

Having decided my way of attack, I stepped through the whole, turned around, and dragged Scorpius unceremoniously across the ridge.

"Ow!"

"Shut it, you big baby," I muttered, stooping to hoist Scorpius back up to eye level. He muttered something about me being a "big meanie" before stumbling along beside me.

Now…where to take him? I eyed his disoriented form dubiously. The Tower? No, I didn't want his drunk self tainting it (what? It's a perfectly reasonable reason!)…the Dungeons? No, I didn't want to run the risk of running into Al. The –

Scorpius opened the door to the classroom directly behind him and stumbled in, approaching the window and collapsing on the window seat.

Well. Abandoned classroom it is then. Nothing suspicious about that.

Not.

Sighing heavily and glancing around for any gossipers, I joined him in the room and quickly shut the door. No need to spread any unnecessary rumors.

I joined him on the window seat, eying him warily as he stared out the window, his face pressed against the frosted glass.

"Why weren't you with Rose?" I asked after 23 seconds. Scorp laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed around the dark room. Oh no. When even _Scorpius _(you know, the bloke who helped me spread the rumor that Seth was a bloody unicorn and generally didn't seem like he had a care in the world) acted all angsty, that's when you knew your world was pretty much sh-shitake mushrooms. Yes, that was it.

Erm. Moving on.

"She seemed distracted, told me she needed space," he said angrily before laughing again. "I was going to ask her to be my girlfriend tonight."

Oh no…I could think of only one reason for Rose's distraction; the fight. Shoot, had _I_ caused the trouble in the perfect Scorose world?

Just bloody fantastic. More guilt to add to Numberita – why not just add that my eating bacon killed millions of helpless little piglets and call it a day?

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. Scorp began singing a tune from our childhood in a surprisingly clear voice for someone who was drunk.

What _did_ you do with drunk people? Send them off to the Infirmary? Provide them with a ton of chocolate and lock them up in a closet and hope they got better soon? Or did you just smack them around?

The last option was quite tempting; I hadn't gotten the change to tackle anyone in a very long time.

But one look at Scorpius's pathetically devastated face dispelled any urges to tackle him. I groaned before taking my wand from my pockets and weaving it in front of his face.

"_Aguamenti_," I whispered. A crystal clear jet of cold water spurted from the wand's tip, drenching Scorpius's face.

He spluttered, gasping for air as I coolly slid my wand back into its place.

"Feel better?"

"No, you bloody woman!" he bellowed before wincing and clutching his head.

"Scorpius, listen," I said seriously. He looked up, his silver eyes glinting in the moon's light.

"Rose wasn't mad at _you_ – she was mad at me. We got into a row earlier about A-something. It's my fault, okay? Don't be mad at Rose. You need to go off and have five kids or something…whatever you Malfoys do."

"We Malfoys generally only have one heir," he sniffed, thrusting his aristocratic nose in the air. I rolled my eyes; even drunk Scorpius made sure to insert something about his family's "noble" background.

He did look a bit better though. I leaned forward to give him a quick hug.

"Now, Scorpius, go there and fulfill your Scorose destiny!"

Scorpius drew back, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Scorose?"

Shoot.

I shot a quick smile before saying, "Well bye!"

I ran out of the room, leaving Scorpius's confused self sitting on the window seat.

Awesome Adela had done her job – heck, I was pretty much a bloody _hero_.

Note to self: add "person to help cheer up drunk people" to list of potential job opportunities.

I glanced over my left shoulder at the portrait of the pink-swathed lady. She was passed out on the ground, the empty wine bottle resting haphazardly at the edge of the wooden table behind her. Way to go Hogwarts. Brilliant role model you've provided us with.

Rolling my eyes, I turned and headed in the direction of the Tower. From behind me, I heard a faint call of "Rose!" and an answering "Scorpius!"

I smiled a bit to myself, satisfied about my handiwork. Let no one say that Awesome Adela isn't a born matchmaker!

Feeling quite proud of myself, I imagined various scenarios in which I set up everyone else with their perfect person while they all worshiped me. Hehhee.

_Ah!_

I rounded the corner, bouncing into the (rather) solid chest of some bloke. My forehead bounced off his shoulder, ricocheting backwards 3.4 inches as I yelped.

I collapsed to the ground, my hands flinging backwards in order to muffle my fall. Ouch. That was going to hurt later on. I winced, rubbing my wrists. That's it. THAT PERSON WAS GOING TO PAY. I glared upwards, straining to make out my attacker (oh, shut it. Who cares if it was an accident? I STILL GOT HURT); it was no use – the dimly lit hallway (strike #131515 for Hogwarts's interior design) did nothing to illuminate his face.

"When I get my hands on ol' Bessie, you just watch it!" I threatened, scrambling to my feet and brushing off my pants.

The assailant chuckled (chuckled! At my _pain_!), the crisp scent of freshly fallen snow wafting over the 5.6 inches between us to drift across my nose. Bullocks. Al. I did _not_ want to see him tonight – not right after the whole row with Rose about, well, _him_.

"Did Wood take away your bat? I'll have to remember to congratulate him on managing to do that without getting maimed," he said, stepping forward so that his face was no longer in shadow. I muffled a gasp; in the moonlight, Al looked…

OKAY MOVING ON.

I laughed nervously, my heart racing. What was wrong with me? I met his eyes; ah! Big mistake. I'd forgotten how _green_ they were. Still bloody unfair how he got pretty almond-shaped eyes while I got murky hazel eyes that looked like cat vomit most of the time. UNFAIR I TELL YOU. UNFAIR. I avoided his eyes, instead focusing on his nose. Okay, it was a nice nose, but it was better than looking at those hypno-what was I doing? Was I analyzing his facial features?

Oh lord I really was insane.

Al coughed; oh, right. I still hadn't replied.

"He has a couple bruises across his stomach area, but the git has fast reflexes – you know, the whole Keeper thing and all," I rambled.

Al got a strange glint in his eye, and his mouth curled up into a sly smile.

"Really? How fast is he?" he asked casually.

"Oh, maybe – WAIT," I stopped; he was a _Slytherin_ – as in, the team that had bloody beat us too many times to count when we were _just_ about to get the Cup! I scowled, flinging an accusatory finger at his face.

"You _cheat_!" I bellowed. He smirked, crossing his arms.

"Not my fault if the Ravenclaw Beater insists on spouting out her team's statistics to random passerby," he said easily.

ARGH.

I spluttered around for 34 useless seconds as Numberita struggled to find a witty comeback.

Nothing.

Looks like I was on my own on this one. Which, you know, always leads to good things. Not.

I think I'm getting pretty good at this sarcasm thing!

"You-you-you _bitterweed_!" I yelled, my cheeks burning and my hair puffing around my face. Oh, Merlin. I was sure I looked quite attractive at this moment. Not that it mattered or anything.

Al blinked. "Bitterweed?"

I mirrored his actions; oops. I'd forgotten that not everyone knew what that word meant. Oh well. His loss!

"Anyway, I have to go now – things to do, people to see," I said lightly, moving to head past him.

As I walked past him, he said, "Have fun…_doing_ those things."

I rolled my eyes, not even gracing his sentence with a reply. Honestly. Were all teenage blokes like that?

You know what, I don't think I want to know the answer to that question.

Nope.

It was only when I reached the Tower that I stopped to think about _why_ Al was in that corridor. Why wasn't he at the Gryffindor Common Room with the rest of his House?

I paused, my right hand still resting on the bronze banister.

In fact, he was heading straight to...

Oh no.

I had to stop him!

I whirled on my heel and began running down the marble stairs. Dear Merlin, please let me not be too late…

**AN: *****cowers* please don't kill me! Sorry for the cliffie, but I couldn't resist ;D Please review! **


	26. My Beater Senses are Tingling

**My Beater Senses are Tingling**

** Author Note: Welcome back, dear readers, to another installment of the Awesome Adela variety! :D I think I've finally sorted out all my ideas into what looks like a plausible fanfic/sequel/and a possible companion as well. The only problem is actually finding the time to write all of them! xD**

_Seriously_, Al? I muttered angry thoughts to myself (most of them involving Al in some sort of physical pain) as I crashed past various partygoers who had left to get some "privacy" (in other words, snog in the dark corridors and wake up the next day full of shock/guilt at what their drunken selves had done) and stumbled into several disgruntled paintings in my haste to get to him.

What? Oh, you're wondering where he went?

The git was heading straight to the main doors of Hogwarts. Oh? You don't know why that's such a big deal? I'd forgotten you weren't a Ravenclaw. How do I put this is simpler terms…?

Well, the BLOODY IDIOT WAS GOING TO THE FOREST.

Honestly, I should have expected this. After the whole Dominus meeting thing, Al was _furious_. It was all I could do to drag him out of that office before he yelled at Dominus and got expelled. I'd sat Al down in a classroom and listened to him rant for thirty-two minutes before he got eerily quiet. It was odd, but I was too relieved that he'd stopped looking like a madman to question it. Looking back, I probably should have known better – I've known him for six years, and in those six years I've learned that Al is definitely _not_ the type of person to know when to quit. He'll just keep going until he either achieves his goal or dies trying. Whatever happened to Slytherin self preservation?

Which, of course, was why I am so bloody freaked out right now. Al had just been waiting for the right moment to slip out to the Forest and find the creepy stalker himself. He was going to get himself _killed_.

I cursed my slow legs (maybe I should have laid off of that third rasher of bacon), my arms pumping by my sides as I ran. What if he was dead by the time I got there? A sudden image of Al's bloodied body flashed through my mind, leaving a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd never be able to tell him about the Obliviate incident. He'd never reconcile with his brother. He'd never even get to grow up, for Merlin's sake.

No. I'd get there in time – I had to.

I pushed past the heavy wooden doors, hissing softly when the edge caught my shoulder; that was going to leave a mark.

Pausing just outside of the door, I panted heavily, scanning the grounds for Al's lanky form. No…no…there! I could just make out the top of his dark hair flashing momentarily in the moonlight as he approached the eerily dark forest. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders; I wasn't too late! There was still time to change his mind.

"AL!" I bellowed. He turned, his mouth dropping open when he saw me.

"_Adela_?"

I ran forward 29 feet before flinging myself at him. He staggered back, surprised by the sudden onslaught.

"What are you _doing_ here?" he asked, his voice clouded with disbelief. I withdrew my arms from his body, swung my right hand back, and punched his arm as hard as I could.

"Ow, damn it Adela!" he yelped. I glared, pushing all of my anger, worry, and guilt into that one look.

"What were you _thinking_, Albus Severus Potter?" I hissed, jerking my head in the direction of the dark forest just eighteen feet to our left. His face closed off, and he set his mouth into a firm line.

"Go back, Lancaster," he said coolly.

For some reason, his use of my surname incensed me even more.

I scoffed, a bitter laugh ripping itself from my throat.

"Oh, so it's back to Lancaster now, is it? Al, what in Merlin's name were you_ thinking_? Did you even know what day it is? It's _Halloween_ – a _full moon_. If that isn't the makings for a horror scene where you get mauled by a psychopath, I don't know what does!"

He looked uneasy at this and averted his gaze. I gasped, my eyes widening as I realized what he was doing.

"You _knew_ all this, didn't you? Al, why would you possibly think going into the Forest in the middle of night is a good thing? If you _had_ to go, why couldn't you go tomorrow during the _day_?" to my horror, my voice cracked in the middle of my whole speech, but I refused to back down. My hands clenched at my side; didn't the idiot know what his death would do to his family, his friends, even _me_?

He remained silent, still avoiding my eyes.

"God Al, just _look_ at me! I thought we were _friends_!"

He looked up at this, his eyes flashing. "We _are_ friends, Adela!" he said hoarsely.

I laughed at this.

"_Friends _don't keep thin-" I stopped, a huge sucker punch of guilt whamming itself into my stomach. Because that's what I was doing right now. That's what I had been doing every second since the Obliviate incident. Merlin, I'm a bloody hypocrite.

Al mistook my sudden silence for anger, and he said, "Look, Adela, I'm sorry, okay? I just…I need to _do_ something. Dominus certainly isn't going to do anything, and I can't just _sit_ there knowing someone is out there with questionable intent!"

I searched his face, frantically looking for any sign of guilt, remorse, anything. There was a tinge of guilt at keeping this from me, but there was also an overwhelming look of stubborn determination. My heart sunk; he wasn't going to back down.

"I'm going with you," I said firmly. Al immediately began to protest, but I raised a finger to shush him (ha. Look who was shushing who now!).

"You have a major hero complex and/or death wish, and Numberita doesn't really have the energy to psychoanalyze you right now. So for now, I'm just going to follow you and make sure you don't get killed," I said calmly. He spluttered for 34 more seconds before a look of resignation passed over his face. He nodded slowly, his emerald eyes catching mine.

He held out his right hand, his left hand occupied with holding his wand.

"So we don't get separated," he explained. I nodded, slipping my left hand between his fingers.

"Let's go."

And so, we stepped through the trees and into the darkness waiting within.

xxxxxx

"Got a plan?"

"Yeah. Don't get killed."

"Sounds like a rubbish plan."

"Hush up."

"Prat."

Al chuckled softly, his eyes still fixated on our surroundings. I adjusted my grip on my wand, holding it tightly. Shoot, I was sweating. The wood was slippery underneath my fingers, and I brought it to my shirt to wipe it off.

"DUCK!"

I flung myself to the ground, my hands clenching and crushing the brittle remains of the last leaves of the autumn season. A jet of scarlet sizzled above my head and slammed into the tree directly behind me.

Alright, _now_ I was mad. I scrambled to my feet, my hand tightening my wand as I whirled around, looking for the attacker.

"Al!" I hissed.

"It's okay, Adela. I'm here. Do you sense him?" he whispered back. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding; thank Merlin he was alive. We arranged ourselves so that we were back to back. I could feel his comforting warmth through the thin material of my Quidditch jersey.

I forced myself to close my eyes even though every atom of Numberita was screaming at me to keep them open. Calm, Adela. Calm.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled, and I quickly opened my eyes and shouted, "LEFT 39˚!"

Al flung out his wand, sending a spark of golden light in that direction. I heard a muffled grunt as the spell hit its target. Al and I both ran in that direction, our legs crashing through the bramble. The full moon shone on above, casting everything in eerie shadows and lights.

My right ear twitched as my Beater senses went into overdrive. Damn it, there were two of them!

"RIGHT 12˚!"

Al answered almost as soon as the numbers left my lips, shooting a quick Stupefy.

Another muffled grunt, this time accompanied by a brilliant flash of pearly blue light; shoot, he'd gotten a Shield charm up in time to deflect Al's spell.

Silence.

Al and I crouched, our wand arms held out and our breaths coming out in ragged spurts that raked painfully against our throats. 12 agonizingly slow seconds passed.

"Anything?" Al whispered hoarsely.

"No!" I hissed back.

"I can't stand this," he muttered. What? Was he going to...? No!

Suddenly Al sprinted ahead in the general direction of where the shield charm had occurred. I cursed him before running after him. The idiot was going to get us both killed!

A large black form hurled from the shadows to my right and slammed into me. What..?! I hadn't even sensed it! It tipped its head up and howled, an eerie, echoing sound that made my blood run cold. I screamed, the sound tearing itself from my throat before I could stop it.

"_Adela_!"

No! Al could _not_ come here! I recognized the beast as a werewolf. Cursing my stupidity (how could I have not connected the full moon to the risk of werewolves!), I backed away from it until I could go no farther; my back slammed into a tree. The beast smiled, revealing rows of glistening teeth tipped with…scarlet. My stomach protested as Numberita identified it as crusted over blood. At least it wasn't fresh blood…if Al came crashing into here, the beast would go after him. How could I live with myself if he got killed because of me?

I flung my wand up, traced a quick rectangle, and concentrated all of my remaining strength in a single word: "_CONFRINGO!_"

A spurt of brilliant yellow-white light exploded from my wand tip and crashed into the beast's midnight fur. I sank to the ground, breathing heavily as I watched the beast yelp as it got blown fifteen feet away. It crashed into a thicket of oak trees before sliding motionless to the ground. I blinked slowly, struggling to keep my eyes open. My right hand unclenched, my wand rolling away.

I watched another large form lumber into the small clearing. This one was much larger than the last one, its eyes blood red and its body rippled with lethal muscle. Was this how I was going to die? Numberita gave in to her fate and thought about her grief about never telling Al the truth about the library…while my stubborn heart protested, yelling at me to just pick up my wand. I craned my neck 2 cm to the right, violent stars popping into my vision in protest at the slight movement. Yup, I had severe spinal damage all right. The wand lay two inches away from my right index fingers…a distance that might as well have been two miles at this point.  
The beast padded over to the motionless form of his companion before huffing in annoyance (annoyance? Numberita vaguely felt surprise at this; he felt no remorse for his fallen companion) and turning towards me, his lips curled back to reveal razor sharp teeth.

"You have made me annoyed, little one," it snarled, the words crunching out in a grating and altogether uncomfortable jumble. I blinked; werewolves could speak in their wolf form? Maybe its vocal chords were still intact…Numberita cross-referenced our mental image of a human's vocal chords to a wolf's. Two seconds later, I laughed – trust me to be thinking of that at a time such as this.

The sound wheezed out, fluttering from my mouth weakly. The beast growled, angered that I had the audacity to laugh.

"Foolish child!" he snarled, bounding forward and crossing the fifteen-foot gap with a single leap. I quieted, eying him fearfully. If I could just reach my wand…my right hand quivered helplessly, sharp pain shooting up my arm at the slightest movement. Shoot. It looked like my arm was broken as well.

The beast bent down to sniff my wand. I froze at its close proximity, struggling not to vomit as the smell of rotting carrion and blood accosted my senses.

The beast pulled its lips back in a terrifying semblance of a smile.

"I know your scent now, little one," he said. "Maybe I'll play with you a bit before killing you." I glared back at it defiantly. It snarled, moving to bite my hand off.

"_Adela_!"

I had never been so happy to see a person before. I almost choked in relief as the beast whirled around. Al shot a quick _Stupefy_ at it, but the beast merely shook it off and advanced slowly towards Al.

Shoot! I couldn't let Al be killed. I eyed the wand; in its haste, the beast had knocked it an inch closer to me. Come on, Adela, focus. You're not Awesome Adela for nothing!

Closer…closer…there!

Smiling triumphantly, I grabbed the slippery (with what, I didn't want to think about) wand with trembling fingers. Ignoring the white-hot pain, I brought it up and whispered, "_Expulso_." I was vaguely aware that Al had shot a curse at the same time, and I heard a muffled growl and the sounds of a heavy animal running…

It was funny…everything was blurred now, almost like I was underwater.

Ha…underwater…made me think of Seth. There was one time when I was…six? Seven? Oh, the specific number didn't matter…it was alright to be a bit off…anyway, we were at the beach and he got stung by a couple jellyfish a few times…not sure of how many…

My brain hurt…

The dark trees melted together to form a single black wall that pressed closer and closer. It muffled all of my pain, leaving nothing behind. Ah, sweet bliss…

A single white light slammed into my eyes, bringing intense pain. No! I didn't want pain! I looked longingly at the black wall, but it had begun retreating. The white buzz began screeching at an unbearable level…Numberita hurt…

"-_la! ADELA NICOLE LANCASTER IF YOU DIE I SWEAR I WILL DUMP ALL OF YOUR QUILLS IN THE OCEAN!"_

I blinked blearily, Potter's emerald green eyes swimming into focus.

He breathed in relief when he saw my eyes open, wrapping me in a rough hug.

"I thought you _died_," he whispered hoarsely, his voice rough with emotion. He drew back, his eyes hungrily drinking in my face.

"Merlin, Adela," he breathed, his warm hands cradling my bruised cheeks. I offered a weak smile before croaking out, "the beast?"

A dark light extinguished some of the light that had shone so brightly in his eyes; "Ran away. I tried to hit it…but I missed." He was clearly beating himself up about it; anguish shone clearly in his eyes.

"Not your fault," I murmured, each word a struggle to get out. I groaned as Al's finger brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. He drew back instantly. No! I needed his warmth…

I had to tell him about the library – this was my chance to set things straight. Even if it meant he hated me and never spoke to me again…he deserved to know the truth.

"Al, listen. I need to tell you something," I whispered.

"Shh, Adela, I need to get you to the Infirmary," he said worriedly, eying my lower body. I couldn't look down; whether it was from the spinal injury or just pain, I couldn't tell.

"No, Al-" I struggled to get more words out, but my lungs wheezed and were seriously protesting my speaking.

He suddenly bent down and captured my lips with his. In this kiss I tasted desperation, grief, and fear…but also hope. My heart stopped beating for a split second as Numberita caught up; oh Merlin. Al Potter was kissing me – me, the girl that had obliviated him. Al sighed in my mouth, his intoxicating scent magnified times a thousand. All rational thought fled Numberita as I gave in.

And suddenly I was kissing him back, each precious, treasured second imprinting itself in my mind.

"Adela," he breathed after an uncountable amount of time. His eyes searched mine, an anxious expression on his face. I smiled nervously back as guilt slammed into me once more. Oh Merlin – how could I tell him _now_? I couldn't – not after what he'd just done. I blushed furiously, realizing finally what should have been clear before – I fancied him. I loved how he knew me well enough to _really_ see me. I loved how he cared enough to show me his hidden place. I loved how he could get me to talk when no one else could. And he fancied me back – or, at least, this false version of me. He loved a lie.

My heart was singing, my heart was dead.

My heart was dancing, my heart was frozen with guilt.

My heart was…

And suddenly everything went dark.

**AN: Sorry it wasn't very light hearted! This chapter was an emotional roller coaster to write. Anyway, please please please review! **


	27. Ally-Poo (aka Sleigh Dog Al)

**Ally-Poo (aka Sleigh Dog Al)**

** Author Note: Thank you to all readers! **** I especially want to thank everyone who has reviewed – it makes me so happy to read them! Thanks again to LovinMaya for beta'ing this chapter! :)**

Blargh.

I opened my eyes slowly, my surroundings a hazy white blob.

I tried to sit up but found I couldn't; my back was way too sore for strenuous movement. Merlin. Since when do I consider _sitting up_ strenuous activity? I blinked again, struggling to discover where I was. Scratchy, thin white cotton sheets…big, slightly-too cold room…the Infirmary. I looked down the length of my prone body; my arm was bandaged up, as was my stomach and left ankle. As for my back…well, let's just say even _thinking_ about bending over made me wince.

A slight noise made me look to my left - Al sat on a chair, his head bent over and resting on the nightstand. An inky black curl draped across his slender nose, tendrils moving slightly as he breathed softly. I smiled sadly, my eyes tracing his features. His hands were bandaged up as well, a harsh burn peeking out from the off-white bandages encasing his left hand. A burn? Where had that come from? I had so many questions…

I sighed, staring up at the tiled ceiling. Al had obviously sat by my bedside all night, by the looks of it. I didn't deserve to even know him. I bit my lip anxiously, dreading the moment when he would see me for what I really was – a liar, a hypocrite, and most of all – an insane bitterweed that was too cowardly to tell him the truth.

"Adela?"

I looked back over at him, gasping a bit when his brilliant green eyes met mine. Guilt or not, I still resented his eyes; I mean, come on! They're hardly _fair_. They're like a mini Disarming spell in themselves.

That was the only reason he beat me in that one duel back in fifth year. Really.

Oh, sod off.

A large bruise covered his left cheekbone, the purplish-red staining his otherwise clear skin. It contrasted sharply against his pale skin, wrapping around his high cheekbone and just touched his upper eyelid. Merlin. Was it just yesterday that I had still been too stubborn to call him by his name? I flushed, quickly looking away from his face and staring instead at my bandaged feet.

"You look terrible," I said nonchalantly, furiously focusing on not blushing (again).

Al laughed before saying, "Looked in a mirror lately?"

Despite my determination to distance myself, I had to laugh at that. It just seemed so ridiculous – only a couple hours ago I was running away from two werewolves and two wizards of unknown identity in the Forbidden Forest. Now I was talking about mirrors with Albus Potter (you know, the one I spent the greater part of this whole thing complaining about) in the Hogwarts Infirmary.

"What happened with shield dude?"

Al paused for 3 seconds before understanding dawned on him. Impressive. Most people took at least 53 seconds to catch up on my nicknames. "I ran after him, but he sent a jet of fire at me and escaped," he said bitterly, looking angrily down at his burned hand.

"Who _are_ they?" I asked. Questions whirled frantically around Numberita as I struggled to come up with answers (or at least feasible predictions). What would two werewolves and two wizards be doing in the Forbidden Forest so close to Hogwarts? How did they even get past the wards? Only Dominus had the ability to let people in…did the wards fail? But Dumbledore had set those wards himself, and from what I heard from him, Dumbledore did not mess up. Which meant that-

I gasped, a terrible thought dawning on Numberita.

"You don't think…Dominus…" I began slowly, my voice lowering. Al nodded, his face tense.

"We don't know for sure, but at this point all we know is that those people could not have gotten in without _someone's_ help…he came in and tried questioning me, probably trying to see how much we know. Although we don't know for sure…"

His voice trailed off, and I nodded, understanding his meaning. At this point, we couldn't afford to trust him. My mind flashed back to the day of Professor McGonagall's resignation. Who _was_ Dominus? All we knew about him was that he had been a high-ranking Ministry official and that he was annoyingly condescending. He made a perfect villain; no one really liked him. I heard teachers titter about his dictatorial ways all too often, and the students weren't any better. But I wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing – I was trained to double guess everything. Dominus made an almost _too_ easy villain. But if not him, who else? Numberita struggled to come up with another person but failed.

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the banging of a door quickly silenced me. Madame Pomfrey bustled in, quickly followed by Dominus's authoritative form.

I shot a quick glance at Al, but he was looking at Dominus with a steely look in his eye. Oh Merlin. Please let Al reign in his temper.

"Miss Lancaster, glad to see you're awake!" his voice boomed across the empty room. I nodded, wincing as the loud sound aggravated the headache I'd already had.

Pomfrey hurried to adjust my blanket and change the bandages on my feet (I did not envy her job. I don't have the nicest smelling feet…as Scorpius had quickly found out when I shoved my feet in his face back in first year as payback for him stealing my underwear from my trunk).

"Have you caught them?" I asked, struggling to sit up and see him eye-to-eye. Pomfrey hurried to help me up, propping my sore back against the metal backboard. My spine protested loudly, but I ignored it, instead meeting Dominus's grey eyes coolly.

Dominus paused, sorrow flashing through his eyes briefly before disappearing again. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. "Unfortunately, no," he said. I studied his lined face. Was it sorrow that they had escaped? Or sorrow that we had been there to witness it?

"We recovered the body of…a werewolf on the premises. Do you know how she was killed?" he continued, leaning forward and pinning me under a scrutinizing gaze. I gulped, Numberita whirling – I hadn't even thought about the consequences of my spell. I had…holy hippogriffs, I had _killed_ someone. True, it was a werewolf that had tried to kill me first…but still. This was different than pranks; someone's life had _ended_ because of me. It – no, _she_ had a family that would be wondering where she was.

Was Dominus going to persecute me? Merlin, WAS I GOING TO BE SENT TO AZKABAN?

A cool hand enveloped my trembling left, slender fingers rubbing small circles on my palm. A jolt of electricity seared up my arm, and I flashed Al a grateful look before meeting Dominus's eyes again. Thank Merlin for Al. I relaxed a bit, struggling to keep my face emotionless.

"Your friend here wasn't sure how it happened," Dominus said, a tad of disapproval snaking its way into his voice. I sighed heavily; so Al hadn't revealed my hand in this.

"Hypothetically…what would the attacker be in trouble for?" I asked nervously, my voice sounding annoyingly high and weak in comparison to Dominus's deep voice. I saw Al resisting the urge to slam his head on the nightstand out of the corner of his eye, but I ignored him; I couldn't live with _another_ secret. The one I already had burned my chest and felt like a kilo of bricks. I didn't think I could bear another one.

Dominus shot me a knowing look before saying lightly, "It was out of self-defense. The Minister was notified about the circumstances and has acknowledged the strenuous situation. He's decided to pardon the attacker."

I breathed a sigh of relief before nodding and saying, "It – she – went after me and I cast a quick Confringo at her."

Dominus blinked, a flash of surprise wrinkling his face.

"You killed a fully grown werewolf with a _Confringo_?" he said disbelievingly, pinning me with a patronizing look that clearly said, "No way did a puny little girl do that."

I glared at him, resisting the urge to bring out my inner Beater and whack him on the head with the empty glass on my nightstand. Breathe, Adela. I'm not sure that hitting your Headmaster is something the Minister could look away from.

"Yes," I gritted out. "I _did_. I didn't mean to _kill_ her, but I was the one who shot the spell."

He raised a bushy eyebrow, clearly not believing me. Whatever. It wasn't as if it was _that_ big of a deal – as much as I hated to admit it, Al could probably have done much better than I had in my situation (I'm better with the physical stuff - you know, the sort where I come at you with a wooden bat). At least, he would have found some way to stun her or something and not…well, kill her. I gulped, the image of her body crumpling against the tree burning itself into Numberita.

Merlin, that was going to leave some psychological damage. Because, you know, it's not like I can have too many psychological issues!

Not.

"What exactly happened?" he pressed.

"Al and I went into the forest-" I began.

"_Why_?"

I shot a quick glance at Al. Something told me telling Dominus that Al had some sort of personal need to hunt down these stalkers wouldn't do any good…especially if Dominus was the one who had let them in.

Shoot. Numberita, help me think of some plausible excuse! She thought for 13.2 seconds before coming up with the only one Mr. Oh-So-Patronizing would believe of two teenagers.

Oh Merlin.

"Um…Al and I…we wanted to…you know," I said, blushing furiously.

Dominus blinked, his lips curling into a small sneer. Git. Did he _honestly_ think we would want to go into the Forbidden Forest at _midnight_ in a _full moon_ to do…that? How stupid did he think we were? I WAS A BLOODY RAVENCLAW FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! Well, looking back, we kind of _did_ go into the Forbidden Forest alone during the full moon…but that's beside the point.

"And what exactly was _that_?" Dominus asked snidely. I resisted the urge to glare at him; the prick obviously _knew_ what I meant. He just wanted me to suffer and have to say it! I steadfastly avoided Al's curious gaze, my cheeks reddening (probably to record levels) as I spat out, "We wanted to be alone to snog."

Oops. Maybe that was a bit too spirited. I needed to convince Dominus that I was a harmless airhead. I coughed softly, looking up demurely from underneath my lashes. How do helpless girls do it? Um.

"OHHH WOEEE IS MEEE! THOSE SCARY ANIMAL BEASTS JUST SCARED ME SO SO SO MUCHHH! I JUST WANTED TO SNOG MY WIDDLE ALLY-POO AND THEN THOSE SCARY BEASTS CAME! Headmaster Dominus, why were they there? I thought you were supposed to protect us!" I said innocently (what? I couldn't resist!). Dominus looked a bit uncomfortable at the shift in attention (ha – see how _you_ like being the one under the spotlight!). I flung my head dramatically into my hands, peering at him through a small crack between my right index and middle fingers.

Madame Pomfrey, who had been oddly quiet up to this point (she usually can't let a minute go by with at least one "Hush!" or "Leave my patient alone!"), spoke up.

"Dominus, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave my patient alone now," she said firmly. Dominus nodded, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Very well. Miss Lancaster, Mr. Potter, good day," he said before turning on his heel and striding away.

I waited 59 more seconds for Pomfrey to leave as well before lifting my head out of my hands and granting myself a self-satisfied smirk.

"And…scene," I said, preening a bit.

"I don't know whether to laugh, strangle you, or congratulate you," came Al's voice from my left. I shrugged, turning to grin at him.

"I _was_ rather brilliant, wasn't I?" I gloated, attempting to fluff up my hair. Shoot. It was at the "Unrecognizable as hair. Looks more like matted tumbleweed" stage. I casually brushed my ear, making it seem like I had been aiming for it the whole time. Al rolled his eyes (oh lord, here comes the chronic eye-roller again) but chose to ignore my antics.

"_Ally-poo_? _Really_?" he said. I shrugged.

"It was the best I could come up with at such short notice," I said defensively.

"It's a _girl's_ name," he said, flinging his hands in the air.

"So?"

"_So_, I'm a manly man! I can't be known as _Ally-poo_!"

Oh dear. This bloke has serious issues.

"Whatever, help me up, will you?"

Al looked up at that, his face serious and concerned.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

I nodded, saying, "I'll go insane if I stay here for another minute. Besides, I need to find out more about this whole…thing. And this isn't really the place to talk." I jerked my head in the direction of Pomfrey's office. He nodded, leaning over and scooping me up in his arms.

I grinned; Sleigh Dog Al was back!

I opened my mouth to yell a jovial "Mush!" but Al glared down at me before I could speak.

"If you say 'mush' I swear I will drop you," he warned, his voice dangerously soft. I shivered for a moment; yup, Al was definitely a Slytherin.

About 130 seconds later I got over it though (living with Seth had desensitized me to the whole "evil Slytherin glare"), waited for the right moment (when Al was near Professor Agrican, who he needed to impress and thus would not risk let him see him drop a poor, defenseless, _injured_ girl on the hard ground) before bellowing, "MUSH, DOGGIE! MUSH!"

"Merlin, woman. Shut _up_," he hissed, his cheeks reddening a bit as students turned to see where the noise had come from. Hehehe.

I stayed quiet (no need to provoke Sleigh Dog Al any more than I already had) for another 209 seconds.

"Where are we going?"

Al paused at this, cursing softly.

"I was going to take you to the Tower, but I'm not really sure how your House would react to a Slytherin entering it."

I nodded my agreement before something dawned on Numberita.

"Wait! How do you know where the Tower is?" I accused. Al rolled his eyes (he seriously has a problem) before answering, "Remember that time in first year when the Tower was covered with horse dung?"

I scowled; that time had been dark times for the Ravenclaws. The scent hadn't left the Tower for _months_.

"That was Seth, Scorpius, and me," he said smugly. My frown deepened, and I reached over and punched his stomach.

"Ow!" he complained.

"You deserve it. The horse dung got into my Awesome Journal!"

"Your- you have a journal?" he asked, his voice a tad too eager/sly for my liking. I sniffed, pointedly looking away.

"Go away, Slytherin," I said primly.

"I'm the one who is bloody _carrying_ you around the school."

"Mush."

His arms tightened and a strained expression came across his face, but he didn't drop me. Hah.

I smirked; Al wouldn't dare drop me. I preened some more, enjoying being carried around by the usually oh-so-might Al Potter.

"Oi!" What? I paused, feeling Al's voice reverberate through his stomach.

"Keeper!"

I looked up just in time to see a very annoyed looking Wood approaching. Oh no. Curses, Al! He was probably going to berate me for getting injured in the middle of the season!

Al shot a quick smirk down at me before approaching Wood. Git. Forget anything nice I said about Al. He was a prat.

"What do you want, _Pot-_oi! What are you doing with my beater?"

I cringed, trying to hide my face in Al's shirt (okay, so maybe I was trying to smell a bit more of Potter Scent No. 5…but you can't blame me!).

"Take Adela back to the Tower, will you?"

Wood glared at Al, a mini testosterone fest going on. Joy. Just what my injured self needed. Who doesn't want to see two Quidditch captains glaring it out in the middle of a hallway while I LIE HERE IN PAIN!

After 35 seconds I coughed loudly.

Al glanced back down, his green eyes softening a bit. I flushed, looking away before I could catch myself counting the golden specks in his irises (Numberita had already found there were eleven in his left eye).

Al handed me off to Wood gently, his hand pressing against the small of my back.

Just call me the Sack o' Adela. Why not just stick a label and weight on me while you're at it? I AM NOT A BLOODY BAG OF POTATOES.

I fidgeted a bit, glaring at Al.

Al flashed me a quick lopsided smile before waving cheerily at Wood and smirking.

Merlin, that boy does not know how to endear himself to others. Wood scowled back, his hands tightening.

"Ow!" I yelped. Wood immediately loosened his grip a bit.

"What in Merlin's beard _happened _to my beater?"

I cringed, laughing nervously.

"Well…"

I looked up for back up from Al, but the git had already left.

Jerk.

"_Well_?" Wood glared down at me, his dark blue eyes narrowing.

Oh boy.

This should be fun.

**AN: Sorry this was so dialogue heavy, but I thought it needed a bit of a break from the heavy dark action stuff of the last chapter! **** As always, please please please review! =D**


	28. The Wondrous Bacon Fountain

**The Wondrous Bacon Fountain**

**Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to Rowling. All OCs/plot belong to me. **

Tuesday morning. AKA: the day where Al and Awesome Adela realize that they have no plans for the dueling club meeting scheduled to start in twelve minutes and 22 seconds and that they are royally screwed.

I glanced at my watch again, pacing up and down the length of the spacious room. I couldn't help but be awed by the sheer size of it; the Room of Requirement certainly lived up to the hype. The moment we had walked past it (Numberita furiously concentrating on a bacon fountain the whole time), the Room had appeared, fully equipped with long wooden stages, a hydration station, and, yes, a bacon fountain. Al seemed a bit confused at first at that last bit, but he seemed to understand after seeing me beeline to it. Although the Room couldn't conjure up food (something about breaking a Law or something rubbish like that – I mean, honestly, would it _really_ hurt the laws of physics to magically conjure up some bacon?), it had somehow summoned it from the kitchens. I'm sure the house elves should be pleased to find the 38 pounds of bacon missing.

Oops.

"Would you _stop_ pacing?"

I paused for three seconds, shot Al my best wounded glare, and resumed my furious walk. He groaned, slumping down on the plush emerald (of course the git had tried to decorate the Room with Slytherin colors. I'd quickly rebelled against this when I realized what he was doing, and now the Room looked like some blue and green beast had vomited all over it) armchair next to the door.

"Okay, so they come in, we teach them a few spells, try not to have anyone get hurt and then sue us, and then that's that!" I said quickly, my voice rising a bit into hysteria. Merlin, I just _knew_ we should have planned this out better!

Al and I had spent the better part of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday evening fighting/attempting to organize this. Honestly, the git couldn't accept a _single_ one of my ideas without arguing some aspect or another (I thought bringing in hippogriffs as a disciplinary method was a bloody amazing idea! Nothing like the threat of heavily armed beasts to really get students into shape!).

A warm hand rested on my shoulder. I paused, glancing up into Al's disgustingly pretty (still not over that) eyes.

"Relax, Adela," he said seriously, his eyes searching mine. My breath caught for 8 seconds before I managed to nod.

You see, I (even with all my astounding Ravenclaw intellect) had not yet figured out where we stood. Al didn't seem to be so sure either. Yeah, we had kissed in the forest – but that was under extreme stress and adrenaline. I'm sure Al would have kissed anyone else if that person had been in that situation.

That thought burned in my heart; okay, so maybe I fancied him. But I was working on it!

Okay, I needed to pace some more. My right foot lifted three inches as I prepared another round of "let's see how many times I can walk around before Al explodes!"

Strong arms encircled my stomach, bringing me crashing down onto a rather comfortable lap.

"Eep!"

Al laughed, his breath ghosting over my ear. I shivered; Merlin, that boy was dangerous.

"Let me go!" I said, but my voice wavered a bit when Al began stroking small circles onto my waist. Note to self: start wearing some sort of protective vest. And _no_, I will not start wearing a straitjacket!

"I don't know, I kind of like this," he said cheerfully. I flushed, my cheeks turning an oh-so-attractive shade of overripe tomato. I shifted so that I could meet his eyes.

Erm. Bad idea. Al's bright green eyes glinted back at me, and his lips curled into a smirk.

"Yes?" he asked innocently. I spluttered intelligently (what? MY EVERY ACTION IS INTELLIGENT) for eight seconds before huffing and crossing my arms.

"What are we, Al?" I asked. Al quirked an eyebrow (damn him and his controllable eyebrows. I tried lifting an eyebrow once…I ended up getting sent to Dominus's office for "scaring the first years").

"What do you think we are?" he asked, the corners of his lips twitching. I scowled.

"Potter. You know what I mean. Are we…" I gestured wildly between us and managed to hit my own chin with my right arm. Joy. DEAR MERLIN WHY DO YOU HATE ME?

Al laughed at that. I shot him a threatening glare, but (unlike with Seth and Scorpius) Al didn't back down.

He quieted after a moment, a serious expression coming to his face.

"Adela. I'm rubbish with all this girly emotional stuff. But I do like you, even if you insist on being the most annoying prat I've ever known. Not to mention the fact that you insist on whacking random people…and refer to yourself in the third person…or the fact that in first year you used to practically stalk me…or-"

"ALL RIGHT THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH!"

Al smirked, flicking my nose. Git. I really did need to get around to "misplacing" Sir Archibald in his bed. See how _he_ liked getting greeted by a cantankerous cat first thing in the morning. Wait. Did he just sa-

"I did _not_ stalk you!" I protested hotly. Al laughed at that before saying, "Adela. You used to follow me all the time. You memorized my schedule. You even infiltrated the Slytherin Dungeons. Pretty sure that fits the whole stalking criteria."

I narrowed my eyes, images of Al getting multiple Howlers from "mystery" people whirling through my mind. Note to self: purchase five Howlers on the next Hogsmeade trip. Send them all to Al. Watch and enjoy the show.

I jumped off of his lap, brushing off my clothes in a very ladylike manner (if you ask me). Al rolled his eyes before standing up as well.

"Right, so we'll start with shield charms, then?" he suggested. I groaned; I hated shield charms. Not to mention the fact that we should have mastered them back in third year…but, of course, Professor Agrican had ruled them out for being too "emotionally stimulating." Even though we were all at least in sixth year, Al and I had decided that we might as well start with basic spells and work our way up. Neither of us wanted to be known as part of "that year that all failed their DADA NEWTs." Which we would be if Agrican continued to teach us.

Incompetent teachers = unhappy Adelas.

I realized that Al was still waiting for an answer, so I muttered a quick affirmation before fiddling with my wand. Al flicked my shoulder, and I glared up at him.

"Stop worrying so much," he ordered. I stuck out my tongue before moving to stand next to the door.

"Stupid Ravenclaw," he muttered under his breath. I whirled around, stalking up to him. I jabbed my finger at his white shirt (oh dear Merlin his chest was-ERM MOVING ON).

"You sir, have just committed the most blasphemous of crimes! _Stupid Ravenclaw_? That's practically an oxymoron! We Ravenclaws are not _stupid_. If anything, _Slytherins_ are the nastiest sort of people! They're too stupid to do anything, so they make up for it through sly schemes and-_mmph_!"

All of a sudden Al's warm lips were on mine, and Numberita was effectively immobilized. Gah. Gah. Gah. Mind overload. Gah. Gah. Gah. Can't…think…

Al pulled away, smirking down at me. I stared up at him, my mouth open.

"Adela. Relax," he said. Numberita slowly began the process of rebooting as I scrambled around for a witty comment. Nothing.

Thanks a lot, Numberita.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Al cast one last amused look at me before saying, "Well, seeing as you're incapable of movement…I'll go answer it." I glared at his back and shook myself awake.

Prat.

"Hey, Al!" a cheery voice said. Huh. I knew that voice…

"_Adela!_"

A small form launched itself at me, enveloping me in a stifling hug. I froze, finding that my face was suddenly full of dark black braids. The girl pulled away from me, beaming happily at me. Oh. The Hufflepuff…what was her name? Kate! See? I _am _getting better with these names!

"Er…hi, Kate," I said awkwardly. I spotted Al's silently laughing form over her shoulder, and I shot him a quick glare before smiling at Kate. Merlin, Hufflepuffs are so…_happy_. A dark form approached us, standing behind Kate. Kate beamed up at him, and Xavier's oh so cheerful (not) face looked down at me skeptically. Curses. Why was I so short? Note to self: find some potion that will make me grow. Then go and rub my newfound height in Seth's face.

"_This_ is the girl who's going to be teaching us to duel? She couldn't even figure out how to charm her way out of a bed!" he said disbelievingly. Well, there's House loyalty for you. I glowered up at him.

"Hush, Xavier!" Kate scolded him. I longed for ol' Bessie…I settled for pointing a threatening finger at him before shooing him towards the back of the room. Several other people streamed in, each one eying the room curiously. My smile grew increasingly strained as I greeted person after person. There's that girl I tackled last year…and that boy that made fun of my hair last summer…and that girl Seth brought back home. Emily Knightcast showed up (joy to the world. Not.) and immediately began simpering her way to Al. I shot a discreet freezing charm at her, and she yelped before scurrying to the back of the room. Hehehe.

Al gave me a knowing smirk, at which I shot a freezing charm at him too. Hey – I'm generous! No need to discriminate against my victims. Everyone deserves an equal shot at being my next target!

Dear Merlin if I get another lump of coal this year I will be extremely angry. Just look how generous I'm being! DO YOU SEE THIS KARMA?

Al glared at me as he closed the door after the last person entered. He bent down so his lips just brushed my cheek.

"Was that really necessary?" he whispered, his breath brushing my ear. I shivered; damn him and his irritating habit of speaking like that.

I nodded stubbornly, jerking away from him. "And what's this about a bed?" he asked curiously. Bed? I stared up at him for seven seconds before Numberita caught up. Oh! The whole Wood/Xavier thing.

"Wood locked me in a bed because I rummaged through his trunk to get ol' Bessie back," I explained. Al muffled a laugh, and I began imagining his head getting splattered with rotten tomatoes. I'm a lovely friend, I know.

Oh, sod off.

I stalked off towards the raised platform fifteen feet away and hopped onto it. I peered down at the hordes of Hogwarts students (Merlin, there were thirty six of them!) currently gathered below me. They all talked amongst themselves, chattering loudly about Quidditch/the latest gossip/etc.

"Erm…hello," I began. Chatter. I scowled; come on, the least they could do was _listen_ to me.

If I had ol' Bessie with me I could probably go whack some people with her. That would get their attention. I glared at Wood's turned head, my eyes boring into his sandy hair. Git. Thief. Note to self: tell the house elves to stop giving him oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Oi!" I shouted. Nothing. Al chuckled behind me, and I whirled around to shoot him a dangerous glare. Why wasn't the git _helping_? After thirteen more fruitless seconds I yanked my wand from my trousers and pointed it at my throat.

"_Sonorus_," I whispered. A queer fuzzy sensation swept over my throat, and I kept my wand gently pressed against my throat as I opened my mouth three inches.

"OI!" The sound echoed harshly across the room, and every head whipped forward to peer indignantly at the source of the yell. I coughed, flushing a bit at the weight of everyone's eyes. Merlin, I wasn't good with these kinds of situations. Seth was better at it. Seth. I met his eyes, and he flashed me a quick thumbs up. I smiled back at him before casting a stern glare (my best imitation of Professor McGonagall's infamous one) down at my humble subjects. Hehe.

"All right, you lot. We're going to work on shield charms today," I began. Mutter. Groan. Whine. Merlin, I can't believe our generation. Why do they whine so mu-OI! I do _not _whine!

…

Okay, so maybe I do. But only a little!

Sod off.

"Look, I know this is basic stuff. But honestly? We need to start as low as we can get, considering the skill level of you lot. It's not like Agrican's the best of teachers," I said, dropping my wand from my throat when it became clear that they were going to stay quiet.

A warm arm dropped across my shoulders, and I resisted the urge to jab my foot backwards and hit the person in his goblinitusitus bitotus. So _now_ the git decides to do his job?

"Adela's right. The shield charm is arguably one of the most important spells. You need a proper defense before you can attack," he said darkly. I tilted my chin upwards, watching as his eyes clouded over. He was obviously still agonizing over the whole Forbidden Forest incident. I reached up and unceremoniously poked his cheek.

"Oi!" he muttered, looking down at me. The tips of his eyelashes brushed his cheeks, his bright green eyes contrasting with the inky black of his eyebrows and hair. He smirked when he saw that I was staring at him, and he bent down to press his lips lightly against my forehead for two seconds. Oh Merlin. I flushed, ducking underneath his arm and scooting five inches away.

I looked at the crowd of students. Oops. Bad idea. Seth looked confused, a furious scowl twitching at the ends of his lips. Evil Redhead looked like she wanted to stab me in my sleep. Note to self: try to train Sir Archibald to defend my bed. Who was I kidding? The blasted cat would probably let her into my dorm, opposable thumbs or not.

Rose was staring at us disapprovingly, and Scorpius just looked plain confused. Selia looked like she was torn between crying and hexing me.

Fantastic. Just bloody fantastic.

Numberita whirled, trying to think of an explanation for what had just happened. Nothing. Looked like I was on my own. Again. Note to self: find some way to get Numberita to work again. Consider bribing with bacon. Bacon solved everything.

"RIGHT SO THERE ARE FIVE BASIC VARIATIONS OF THE SHIELD CHARM. I SUPPOSE WE SHOULD START WITH THE EASIEST ONE. PROTEGO," I bellowed, whipping my arm around in a diagonal slashing motion. A spurt of icy blue glass appeared and formed a half bubble around my front, distorting the wincing students in front of me.

"You are a very loud person," Al observed. I whirled, keeping the shield charm up so the others couldn't see us clearly.

"Merlin, Al, what were you _thinking_?" I hissed. Al looked confused, his left hand rising to ruffle through his hair.

"What?" he asked.

"What about _Seth_? I wanted to break this…thing to them gradually. Not in front of the whole school!" I said angrily, flailing my arms around. Al blinked, horror dawning to his eyes.

"Oh Merlin. I didn't even think about your brother," he whispered. I rolled my eyes; figures. Did he hesitate one second before thrusting himself into the clutches of werewolves on a _full moon_? Nope. But an adolescent boy who went around shouting "battlecry"? Terrifying.

I groaned before turning slowly 180˚ to face the students. Numberita dropped the charm, and I said briskly, "Right, so pair up and line up on the wooden platforms. No lethal charms. I do _not _want to have to explain why dozens of students are suddenly showing up at the infirmary with elephant tusks or some other rubbish protruding from their bodies."

I fixed a pointed glare at the Slytherins, and they looked away sheepishly.

"Eh, you can throw a few jinxes if they deserve it," Al said lightly. My mouth dropped open and I turned to glare at him. He smirked, a rather Slytherinesque glint coming over his eyes. Oh Merlin.

The Slytherins all grinned, their fingers twitching to their wands as they eyed the Gryffindors. Which, of course, made the Gryffindors start their typical "OH MERLIN WE NEED TO BLOW UP IN SCENES OF EXCESSIVE ANGER TO PROTECT OUR BELOVED LION REPUTATION!" thing. I resisted the urge to smack my head against the wall.

Good lord.

"Right, off with you!" I said. Scorpius scampered off with Rose, who was still casting rather disproving looks at me. I flushed, staring at my feet. I'd managed to cast the whole library incident out of my head…but when faced with Rose Weasley's judgmental stare, it all came rushing back at me.

"Are you okay?"

I looked up into Al's concerned eyes and managed a weak smile.

"Yeah."

He didn't look entirely convinced, but a Hufflepuff managed to get hit with a particularly nasty slug jinx and Al left to fix him.

I sighed heavily, watching his retreating back pensively.

What was I doing?

**Author Note: Sigh. Sometimes I just wish I could pause time so I would have time to catch up on everything (sleep, rest, writing fanfics, reading, having **_**fun**_**, etc…). Anyway, please review! **** IMPORTANT: In order to show my appreciation to people who take the time to review, I'VE DECIDED TO RESPOND TO EACH REVIEW WITH A TEASER OF THE NEXT CHAPTER.**


	29. Weasley 1251360

**Weasley #1251360**

_Zing_.

"_Bloody hell!_"

Oh gosh. I groaned, hurriedly making my way over to the end of the room. Stupid Slytherins. Stupid Al. Stupid me for not foreseeing this problem.

A Slytherin – the same one who had partnered with Rose all those days ago – stood smugly over the helpless form of one Fred Weasley. Delicate forest green antlers were currently spiraling out of his fiery red hair, each warped curl sprouting gaudy orange and pink hibiscus flowers. Dear Merlin.

I shot a desperate look around the room for Al, but the git was nowhere in sight. Trust him to disappear the instant I needed him…no, that wasn't fair. Numberita thought back to how he'd shown up in the clearing at the very moment I needed him most.

"You _git_!"

My feelings of affection were quickly replaced by annoyance as I reached the troublesome duo. Stupid Al. Why in Merlin's beard did he have to _encourage_ his house mates?

Fred was currently trying to grapple the Slytherin to the ground, his wand lying forgotten three feet and two inches to his left. I whipped out my own and concentrated, my brow furrowing a bit as I pictured a thick silver wall between the two. Fred pulled back his fist to strike at the Slytherin chaser just as I whispered, "_Protego duo_."

Instantly a tingling sensation traveled down my arm and a silver wall burst from my wand's tip, separating the two.

"_Oi_!" Fred bellowed, his fist bouncing back from the wall. The Slytherin smirked at Fred, making a show of dusting off his robes. I rolled my eyes; honestly, did he _want_ to get beaten up by Fred?

"Weasley. Over here," I ordered, jabbing my finger at the floor four inches away from me. Fred gave no sign of hearing me, his ears a bright red as he glowered at the slightly obscured Slytherin. I watched as another flower – this one sporting pale purple polka dots – sprouted from the topmost branch.

"_OI! WEASLEY! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE THIS SECOND_," I bellowed. He turned, his head dipping over in an almost comical way as he struggled with the newfound weight on his scalp. I snickered; Numberita estimated that the antlers must have weighed at least twenty pounds. Fred sheepishly made his way over, pausing only to shoot one last pointed glare at the Slytherin.

He stood next to me, eying my wand expectantly. Numberita hesitated; right. I'd forgotten I didn't know any healing spells. Something told me he'd need more than just a simple _reparo_. Did _reparo_ even work on physical injuries? Note to self: research that. Possibly get famous and rich patenting it if it does. Use said money to buy that opal quill. Retire early. Gloat.

Fred coughed, his arms now bracing his head to keep it from tilting backwards.

"Erm…Adela? A little help would be nice," he said, his voice strained. I eyed him dubiously before tentatively tapping the nearest branch. Numberita was strongly reminded of the whole green hair fiasco earlier this year…odd, it felt like it was years ago. Had it only been three months?

"_Adela!_"

Right. Fred Weasley had antlers. Adela should probably fix that. I jabbed half-heartedly at the antler and muttered, "_Reparo_."

Nothing. Well, it was worth a shot. Fred lifted his head for two seconds, just long enough for his disbelieving brown eyes to meet mine.

"_Reparo?_ _Really?_" he hissed, dropping to his knees. I winced; Numberita calculated the weight to be around seventy pounds at this point.

A waft of warm cinnamon interwoven with freshly fallen snow drifted over, and I (much to my consternation) immediately found myself relaxing. Stupid Al. Note to self: count how many times I've said "stupid Al." Convince Seth to sponsor me – one bacon strip per time I say it. Get fat. Die happy.

I caught a glimpse of long fingers from the corner of my eye as pale blue sparks washed over Fred's collapsed form. The antlers slowly receded, the hibiscus flowers trailing to the ground and lying forlornly on the wooden planks below. Fred rubbed at his head before scrambling to his feet.

"Thanks, mate," he said.

Al wrapped an arm around my waist and nodded at Weasley #1251360. Said Weasley whistled cheerfully before grabbing his wand and promptly conjuring up a horde of hawks to terrorize the Slytherin.

"Your family reunions must be chaos," I observed. Al laughed and rested his chin on the top of my head.

"You don't know the half of it," he said, his voice rumbling pleasantly. I leaned back into his warmth, smiling contently as I observed the dozens of students currently conjuring up shield charms of varying strength. Shield charms relied on a combination of power, determination, and practice. Some wizards were born with more power than others – I shivered as I remembered just how powerful Voldemort had been. People said he was so powerful, you could _feel_ his magic crackling in the air before you could see him. Unfortunately, I was not one of those lucky people who had been gifted with an above average amount of power.

Nope, the genetic Lancaster lottery had granted me with a perfectly average amount. I ranked exactly in the middle of the "Witch and Wizard Power Scale." It was only through sheer determination (Seth called it the "bull dog Adela mode." I hexed him) that I'd managed to produce my shield charms with more ease than most.

My gaze drifted unwillingly at the end of the room I'd managed to avoid up until now – the corner where Rose was currently throwing disapproving looks at me.

My heart clenched; Merlin, what was I doing? How could I do this to Al? He'd saved my life, and _this_ was how I repaid him?

Al's warm hand covered my shaking fist.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I managed a trembling smile, tipping my chin up to meet his eyes.

"Nothing," I said, breaking from his hold to check on Kate.

I'd tell him later.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The next few weeks passed very quickly. Al and I settled into a comfortable pattern – we'd meet up at the Great Hall for meals before heading to the library to plan the next duel club meeting. At first it was quite awkward, what with me having the social skills of a peanut (Oi! Only I have the right to comment about myself!) and with Al still being unused to opening up to another person. But as the days wore on, we both got more comfortable with each other. We'd already been friends, so it wasn't that much of a leap to…this whole thing.

Seth gradually became more accepting of the whole idea, although I still caught him shooting threatening glares at Al. He cornered us right after the dueling club ended, demanding to know why Al was "defiling his sister." Honestly. My twin was an idiot. He was snogging random girls back in second year, and _I_ never went around cursing them. Well, maybe once or twice. But that was besides the point! He then proceeded to attempt to punch Al in the face, leading to yet _another _trip to the Infirmary when Al reacted instinctively and shot a hex at him. I've gone there so many times, Madam Pomfrey's taken to keeping a bucket of bacon in her office to bribe me into good behavior.

Scorpius, surprisingly, didn't seem too bothered by it after the initial shock wore off; he was too busy mooning over Rose to really pay attention to anyone else. And Rose? Well, I mostly just tried to avoid her.

I still hadn't heard from the Evil Redhead yet. I kept expecting her to pop out of random corridors shouting "BROOHAHAHAHA" and try to hex me or something. Merlin, I was getting bloody insane from the wait.

"Oi!"

I looked up, snapped out of my thoughts by Al's deep voice. I quirked an eyebrow (I knew how much that annoyed him). Hehe.

Al was reclined on the other end of the deep blue window seat, his long legs resting against my right side. I sat on the other side of the cushion, my knees drawn up to my chest as I gazed out the dusty window and down to the distant Quidditch pitch below.

"What's wrong?"

His voice was laced with concern, and he leaned forward 34˚ to entwine my fingers with his hand.

I smiled at him, pushing any thoughts of Rose out of Numberita.

"Nothing," I said. He quirked an eyebrow, and I quickly changed the subject.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to keep your mind off the Quidditch game," I said lightly. Slytherin had their match against Hufflepuff in 63 minutes and 13 seconds. If they won, they'd go against Ravenclaw in the finals. Wood had been offering various trinkets (including various undergarments that I did _not_ want to know about) to the supposed "Quidditch gods" so that Slytherin would lose. The bloke had even tried to convince me to "distract" Al into missing the game.

I'd laughed at that one – like I had any power over Al. No, it was more likely that the git would just be amused at my attempts to "distract" him and lock me in some classroom before heading off to win the match.

Al rolled his eyes, disentangling our fingers to flex his arm in an exaggerated display. I smirked, eying his (admittedly well defined) arm with an unimpressed sneer.

"Are you kidding? Slytherin will beat their fluffy arses in_ ten minutes_," he boasted. I grinned – a genuine smile this time.

"Cocky, aren't you?"

"I prefer self confident."

My lips twitched, and I bent my head down to hide my smile. My fingers ran lightly over ol' Bessie (Wood had to give her back to me for Quidditch practice. I made sure to "accidentally" connect her with his head several times during practice), my fingers tracing the well-worn grooves I'd made from countless moments of quiet pensiveness.

Al went back to tossing up a snitch his dad had given him up and down. It glinted occasionally in the sunlight that managed to stream in dusty spirals through the dirty window. Al flicked it up and caught it with ease, occasionally giving it a well-practiced flip. I crossed my legs, leaning back against the wall with ease. I loved quiet moments like this – it wasn't often that Al and I managed to spend time with each other without the angry gazes of his fan club (which had already tried to hex me more times than even _I_ could count) or Rose.

ARGH NO. I didn't want to think about Rose right now. Numberita whirled for some obscure topic to distract herself with.

"What's your favourite colour?"

I blinked; well, I wasn't expecting myself to say _that_, but it would do. All thoughts of the bushy, redheaded Weasley left my mind as Al nimbly tucked the snitch into the pocket of his dark trousers and eyed me curiously.

"Erm…I suppose green. Emerald green," he said after a ten second pause. Of course the Slytherin would go for that.

"How Slytherin of you," I said. He smirked, his lips curling upwards.

"You?" he asked.

Numberita had to think about that one – what _was_ my favourite colour? I thought of all the traditional ones, Numberita dismissing them one by one. Blue? No. Green? No. Pink? HAHAHA no. Oh, shut it. Yes, I _do_ remember my…girly blanket back home. How many times do I have to tell you – I got it when I was a _child_. Stop with the judgment!

Numberita drifted to my gold quill, still lying nestled safely in my bag. I met Al's eyes, my heart speeding up a bit when I saw how the sunlight reflected off the gold flecks in his emerald irises.

"Gold." The word was out without any further thinking on my part. I paused, mulling over the word. Gold. Yes, that sounded right.

"Because of your quill?"

I smiled at Al – see, this is why I put up with the git. Sure, he made me want to go whack some first years around…but he also knew me better than most people.

I nodded at him. My eyebrows furrowed as I thought of his brother. I still didn't understand why a person who had taken the time to find my quills could be such a prick to his own brother. It was an unsolved mystery. Numberita hated those.

"What is it?"

I snapped out of my thoughts, smiling sheepishly at having gotten caught daydreaming again.

"I still don't understand why James did it," I confessed. Al stiffened, his jaw tensing at the mention of his brother.

"What did he do?" His voice was low, dangerous. I scooted forward six inches and rested my head against Al's shoulder. He relaxed a bit, but his fingers were still clenched into a tight fist. I rested my hand gently against his, uncurling his fingers so that they lay still.

"Return my quills."

Al stiffened again, his hand slipping from mine. I looked upwards, but Al was staring fixedly at the wall in front of him.

"He went to the infirmary to return my quills," I explained, still eying him worriedly. What was wrong?

His jaw worked, and he shifted away from me. A pang of hurt stung through me.

"Al."

After forty-two tense seconds, Al managed to meet my eyes.

"How do you know James left you those quills?" he said, his voice hard and unforgiving. I blinked; well, he'd been one of the only people who knew about them…only Scorpius, Seth, and Al knew about them as well, and they-

And then it hit me.

Merlin, I was an idiot. Some Ravenclaw I was.

"It was you," I breathed. Al was back to staring at the wall, his jaw working furiously.

His pale cheeks were a bit pink. Was Al…blushing? Numberita flashed back to that time in detention all those weeks ago when he'd unceremoniously dumped the jacket onto me.

"Well, thank you," I said sincerely. He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

"Guess this doesn't really fit in with your whole 'Slytherin bad boy' reputation," I added. I smirked – what? I couldn't resist letting in one barb – it wasn't often that I had the opportunity to do so.

Al turned to me in horror.

"Merlin, please tell me you didn't read that article," he said. I shrugged; I had, in fact, read the _Witch Weekly_ article. Not that I read that magazine on a daily basis, mind you. Nope. Ravenclaws were above that. Oh, shut it.

"I found it while going to some dinner. Didn't have anything else to read."

He groaned, burying his head in his hands. His slender fingers contrasted sharply with the inky darkness of his hair, flashes of pale skin appearing through wavy hair.

"Dear Merlin. You'd think they'd have something better to write about. Not like I've done anything particularly noteworthy," he said, his voice tinged with just a tad of bitterness.

"Well, you came out of the wife of Harry Potter's body," I said brightly. What? I'm helpful!

Al looked at me, his face turning even paler.

"Don't say that," he moaned.

I took pity on the bloke and changed the subject.

"Favourite Quidditch team?" Al cast me a grateful smile before saying, "Puddlemere United."

I scowled; I didn't own a Gwenog Jones jersey for nothing. Al seemed to sense my disapproval, for he leaned back lazily and cast me a satisfied smirk.

"Problem with my team choice, darling?" he drawled.

I gripped ol' Bessie tightly, my knuckles whitening as I contemplated whacking him with it.

"Holyhead Harpies beat Puddlemere United any day," I hissed. He shrugged.

"Where was your precious Jones when Puddlemere won the Cup?"

"She played damn well in that match, and you know it Albus Severus Potter!"

He rolled his eyes and turned his face towards the window.

Wait. Hadn't Ginny Potter played for the Harpies for a year or two?

"Your _mum_ played for them!"

Al cast a lazy eye back at me.

"And?"

"SO SHE MUST HAVE KNOWN GWENOG JONES. HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS AL I MUST MEET GWENOG JONES. WE CAN EXCHANGE TIPS. SHE CAN SIGN OL' BESSIE. MERLIN'S BEARD AL!"

My enthusiastic yells echoed loudly across the abandoned classroom, and Al winced slightly.

"Merlin, woman. Calm the fuck down," he said. I quieted for thirty seconds before reaching over and whacking Al in the chest.

"Oi!"

I rolled my eyes; he was just lucky I didn't hit any harder. Dear Merlin, I could meet Gwenog Jones. As in, the best beater in the history of Quidditch!

"Favourite food?"

Al shot me an exasperated look before saying, "Merlin, woman. Why are you interrogating me?" I scowled, but he continued speaking before I had the chance to reach over and punch him.

"Green apples."

Figures. I hated the stuff - way too sour.

"Yours is bacon." I nodded, salivating slightly as Numberita pictured a steaming mound of warm, crispy bacon. Mmm...

Al broke my thought train with another question.

"Favourite beverage?" Well, I didn't have to think about the answer to _that_ question.

"Pumpkin juice."

Al cast me an appreciative look and said, "Same."

I grinned at him; finally! Someone who appreciated the finer nuances of pumpkin juice. Seth usually dumps his down the drain in favor of butterbeer. He's an idiot.

After thirteen seconds I noticed that Al was gazing at the dark fringes of the Forbidden Forest again and my heart dropped.

"Al."

He didn't respond, still eying the forest thoughtfully. Dear Merlin. Had the idiot not learned _anything_ from the last encounter? Didn't he know how much he worried me each time he even thought about going back in there? We hadn't seen any sign of the werewolves or mystery wizards in the past month, but that didn't mean we could let our guard down.

"You are _not_ going into that forest," I began. He immediately began to protest, but I held up a finger to his lips. Hehe. I had to admit, I quite enjoyed shushing him.

"Without me," I finished. He blinked, looking faintly surprised. "You're not going anywhere without me," I said firmly. He smiled and leaned down to press a swift kiss to my temple.

I flushed, glancing nervously down at my watch. I could never get used to the whole snogging thing. Oh! Al only had thirty minutes and 22 seconds to get to the Pitch. I thrust my wrist upwards to Al's eyelevel, and he cursed under his breath.

"You'd better support Slytherin," he threatened as he scrambled to his feet. I shrugged, giving him my best imitation of the Slytherin smirk.

"Oh, I don't know. Wood's come up with a pretty good case for Hufflepuff," I said lightly. Well, his case had mostly been a lot of (useless) threatening to take away ol' Bessie (to which I'd responded by bribing the house elves to withhold his oatmeal raisin cookies), but Al didn't need to know that.

Al scowled, approaching me swiftly and glowering down at me. I swallowed at his sudden proximity, the intoxicating scent of Potter No. 5 wafting over me. A full month of being near him and Numberita _still _hadn't figured out how to replicate it.

"You." He leaned down to bring his lips a scant three centimeters away from mine. I gulped audibly, and Al smirked for a second before continuing.

"Are." Was it hot in here? Numberita was going into hysterics. Dear Merlin this boy was dangerous. He tilted his head, pressing his lips softly against the corner of my mouth. I froze, electricity sparking between us as he mumbled against my cheek.

"Rooting for Slytherin," he finished, drawing away and grinning cockily at my annoyed expression.

Hmph. The _nerve_ of some people. I turned and huffed, my arms folding stubbornly across my chest.

A warm, soft cloth draped across my neck, trapping my dark hair between the fabric and my skin. Al smiled at me, his eyes softening a bit. I tilted my chin downwards, eying the blatantly green and white scarf dubiously. Merlin, Wood was going to throw a fit.

Al flicked my temple and I glared up at him.

"Bye!" he called jovially, turning on his heel and waltzing out of the room. I gaped at the closed door for a full minute and a half before Numberita could catch up enough to stand up.

My hand reached up to brush against the soft fabric tentatively before rising to brush the spot where he'd kissed me.

Dear Merlin.

I was in trouble.

**Author Note: So much fluff! I thought Al and Adela deserved a few moments without the whole "werewolves trying to kill them" thing. Anyway, thanks so much for reading! I'm still overwhelmed by the number of hits and reviews! Please review! :) Mini teasers included with each review response c;**


	30. Woo-indorKeeper

**Woo-indorKeeper**

"What are you _wearing_?"

Shoot. I cringed; I'd hoped to avoid Wood…looked like the fates were against me (Note to self: file a complaint. Did they not see me give that last strip of bacon to that first year? DIDN'T THAT COUNT FOR ANYTHING?).

I swiveled my body slowly, the seat of my cloak rubbing against the rough wood of the bleachers.

"Hello, Gideon Wood," I said calmly. Wood was fixated on my scarf, his freckled cheeks turning a dark red.

"Do you _want_ Slytherin to get to the finals?" he spluttered, plopping himself down in the empty seat next to me. I groaned; why couldn't he just sit with the other seventh years? I craned my neck, spotting Xavier's sullen form three rows up.

"Go sit with Xavier," I said curtly. Wood didn't give any sign of hearing me, instead choosing to lift the end of my scarf incredulously. I scowled, yanking the soft fabric from his grubby fingers. I saw him flinging mud at Fred just twenty-two minutes ago.

Wood huffed, sprawling his legs out and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Traitor."

"Sod off."

"What happened to Ravenclaw pride?"

"What happened to supporting your team mate's decisions?"

"I'm Captain. I can do anything."

Well, _someone_ was in a mood. I pointedly looked away, instead leaning forward 34˚ and gazing at the Pitch below. Al was huddled with his teammates, his dark hair just peeking out over the throng of Slytherins. On the other side of the pitch I spotted flashes of bright yellow stripes as the Hufflepuff team huddled. Hufflepuff's team was actually decent this year; the new batch of beaters had great aim. All the bludgers in the world, however, couldn't help them if Al got to the Snitch first.

Suddenly the light got visibly darker and I glanced up to see the familiar scowling form of the Gryffindor Keeper. Joy. This day just kept getting better and better. She shot me a death glare before transferring her glance to Wood, her pale blue eyes softening a tad. Interesting…Numberita felt a twinge of excitement as the Keeper plopped herself down next to Wood. Wood's pale cheeks flushed, a delicate pink tinge staining his freckled skin. Even more interesting…was it time for a new pair name? I realized that I didn't know the Gryffindor Keeper's name…no matter. Woo-eeper? Gryffood? Or maybe Woo-indorKeeper? Hm. Note to self: work on their combined name.

She shoved me over unceremoniously and plopped herself down on the metal bleacher. I scowled, clinging to the edge of the bleacher. Great. Just bloody fantastic. First Wood, now the Gryffindor keeper. What next? Was Voldemort himself going to swoop down to kick me off of the bench that I HAD CLAIMED FIRST?

The keeper turned her head towards Wood, slapping my face with her long blonde ponytail. My frown deepened as I reached for ol' Bessie. Just as I was preparing to whack her arm, Numberita managed to catch hold of her muffled words.

"-you okay? I know Oliver's not making things any better."

I blinked; what? Was Wood the senior here? It wasn't unheard of for pro-league Quidditch coaches to watch some Hogwarts matches, but I hadn't been expecting any this early in the season. Usually they just watch the final.

I craned my neck, scanning the stands near the professors' area. There! I caught a familiar mop of sandy brown hair, identical in shade to Wood's. He was leaning forward intently, watching Al and jotting down notes as he ran through the pre-match warm-up. Oh no. Last time Wood the senior was here, Wood was so distracted he could hardly catch a Quaffle. Of course, that hadn't mattered much when Al caught the snitch just fifteen minutes into the match (the git hadn't had the decency to let the match go on any longer. No, he'd muttered something about "needing to finish a Potions paper" and ambled off the field as if he hadn't just won the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin), but Wood hadn't left the shower for days afterward. The Ravenclaw team eventually had to hold an intervention (which mainly consisted of Nico guarding the locker room from any curious students while I whacked Wood around with ol' Bessie).

Sure enough, Wood was tightly gripping his trousers, his knuckles white with tense anxiety.

"I don't care if that git is here," he spat out, glaring at his father. To my surprise, the Gryffindor keeper (note to self: find out her name) placed a tan hand on his and bumped his shoulder, saying, "Gideon, you're a hundred times more of a man than he is. He's not worth your attention."

I opened my mouth to add in something helpful (after all, Wood _was_ my Captain…even if he was bloody insane and made us have practices at freaking five o'clock in the morning), but I closed it again when I saw the keeper envelop Wood in a hug. Right. This was starting to get a bit too touchy-feely for me. I sat there awkwardly as wet noises that sounded suspiciously like a snogging session emanated from the area directly to my right.

Don't look. Just keep staring at the field. Ignore the fact that Wood is swapping saliva with the bacteria-infested Gryffindor.

GAH I CAN'T DO THIS.

I muttered something about needing the loo before fleeing to sit next to Kate and Xavier. The lesser of two evils at this point, I decided. Xavier sighed wearily before scooting over slightly to give me a whole five inches of space. Wow, any more and I think I might explode from the sheer amount of room.

Not.

I scowled at Xavier, tapping ol' Bessie against my leg. He scoffed, turning to wrap an arm around Kate. Kate gave me a welcoming smile before leaning in closer to Xavier. Numberita just didn't understand them – they were so different. Kate was all cheerful Hufflepuff while Xavier was…well, an unfriendly git.

Then again, I – you know, a wonderfully awesome and intelligent, friendly and welcoming Ravenclaw – was with a stubborn Slytherin who seemed to have a personal need to be a hero and throw himself into dangerous circumstances.

Oh, stop laughing. I can see you.

Madame Hooch strode out onto the field, her spiky platinum blonde hair gleaming in the early morning light. The two teams swooped down to hover an average of eight feet and six inches above the shorn grass, a myriad of emerald and yellow Quidditch uniforms gleaming in the sunlight.

"Right, I want a fair game," she said, giving the Slytherins a pointed look. The Slytherin that had given Fred antlers a few weeks ago – Dolohov, if I recall correctly – smirked, tipping his dark bat towards the small Hufflepuff across him menacingly. Merlin, that prick gives beaters a bad name.

Hooch lifted her silver whistle to her lips and blew sharply, throwing up the dark red Quaffle with approximately 3 N of force.

And they were off, twisting and weaving through the air. I leaned forward anxiously, my eyes tracing Al's lean form as he circled the Pitch.

Al leaned forward, dipping his broom down as he sped towards the ground. He'd spotted something! My eyes flicked to the ground, catching on a familiar glint of gold. It was only five minutes into the match – would he break his previous record of 10 minutes and 32 seconds?

Suddenly a dark blur sped into him, and Al yanked his broom to the right to avoid the Bludger. My heart leaped to my throat as I clapped a cold hand to my mouth. Merlin, this was worse than the Forbidden Forest – and that was saying something.

I quickly scanned the Pitch for the offending beater; I would make sure to corner whoever it was after the match and threate-er, _tell_ the person politely with ol' Bessie how upset I'd been.

I'm all about non-violence, you know. Agrican would be proud.

The two Hufflepuff beaters were busy pulling off a Dobblebeater Defence aimed at Scorpius to have hit that Bludger at Al…which left only the Slytherin beaters. Sure enough, Dolohov was smirking at Al. Outrage leaped in my chest and I shouted, "OI! HE'S ON YOUR BLOODY TEAM, DOLOHOV!"

His smarmy face turned as he turned his smirk at me. Prat. I knew he was bitter that Al was captain and not him, the natural candidate as the best seventh year, but Numberita hadn't thought he'd go as far as sabotage Slytherin's chances at the Cup.

Al nudged his broom downwards, but he sped back up when it became clear the Snitch was gone. I scowled, clenching my hands in my lap so I wouldn't be tempted to hex Dolohov. Soon, Adela. Soon.

Seth managed to score for Slytherin and I cheered, a rush of affection rising as I gazed at my twin. Sure, he was a bloody idiot, but he was _my _bloody idiot. We hadn't shared the same womb for nine months for nothing – oh gross. I pushed Numberita off of _that_ thought train and focused on the match.

My eyes roved intently over the Pitch, scanning for that telltale glint of gold. There! I spotted the Snitch's tiny form hovering near Dolohov's ear. I groaned; of _course_ it would be near the one Slytherin out to get Al. Come on, Al. You can find it!

Al seemed to hear my silent thoughts, for he turned and spotted the Snitch. His mouth hardened into a determined line as he urged his broom forward. Dolohov turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he spotted his captain hurtling towards him at 150 km/hr. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing the outermost wing and –

"Who are those people?" Kate asked. What? I turned, following her outstretched arm to spot two gaunt figures standing in the middle of the Pitch. I blinked; when had they gotten there? Didn't they know it was forbidden to interfere with a match?

Numberita didn't have time to ponder this, however, for the taller of the pair – a scraggly-haired man who practically bulged with muscles – lifted a gnarled wand and sent a wave of blood red sparks in the air. The stream exploded approximately thirty feet up, sending the scarlet lights around the Pitch. The Quidditch players narrowly dodged them, swooping down to see what the ruckus was about.

Students chattered loudly, wondering at the interruption. Numberita had a sinking feeling about this; I stood quickly, grasping ol' Bessie firmly in one hand and my wand with the other, and ran down the stairs.

The smaller of the two men, a dark-haired man with a rather glazed look in his eye, was holding a slender light wand to his throat. He must have cast a _sonorus_, for his next words boomed loudly across the stunned arena.

"_Don't move_!" Everyone froze in their seats, some sinking back down from their places on the stairs leading back to the castle. I glanced at the Professors' area; weren't they going to _do_ something? To my horror, I realized that they were all frozen in place. No, that wasn't true – I caught Dominus and, surprisingly enough, Agrican fidgeting in their places. Agrican looked too horrified at the violence to do anything, and, well, Dominus had just proved our suspicions of his betrayal by conveniently not getting affected by the _petrificus totalus_ the men must have cast.

I froze at my place just outside of the grassy Pitch, my hands clenching and unclenching as the wood of my wand got increasingly slippery under my grasp. A person approached me, and I whirled around to see that it was the sane Scamander twin. His grey eyes were widened in a horror too wrenching to be seen in a fourteen year old's eyes.

"Dad…?" he whispered, reaching a trembling hand outwards. I followed his gaze to see that he was fixated on the dark-haired man. What? That was his _father_? Last I'd heard of him, he was traveling Transylvania with his wife in search of a Crumple-Horned Snorcack. Why was Scamander's father doing this? My eyes flicked back to the monstrous man beside him, noting how he easily dwarfed the elder Scamander. His face was twisted, ugly scars slashing his skin. His eyes were an unnatural shade of red-tinged yellow, and when he smiled it revealed pointed teeth tipped with a crusted red substance. I shivered, bile rising in my throat as Numberita recognized it as dried blood. Numberita flicked back to the events of the Forbidden Forest – could this be the human form of the large werewolf?

If so, we were all in grave danger. I swallowed laboriously around the knot in my throat before lifting up my wand and adjusting my grip.

"_You will all hand in your wands in a day's time. Place them in the field of honking daffodils by midnight tomorrow._" My eyes narrowed as I stared at Scamander's father. His words were hollow, and Numberita couldn't detect a single shred of intelligence behind them. What was wrong with him?

"_DAD!_" I turned, seeing tears dripping down Scamander's pale cheeks. He wrenched forward, his wand lying forgotten on the ground behind him. My legs were frozen, and I could only watch as he ran closer, closer…the father stared at him unseeingly, showing no sign of recognition. I saw the werewolf move out of the corner of my eye and was finally jolted into action. No. No. No.

He leaped forward, slamming his jagged teeth into Lorcan's throat. _NO_.

Scamander dropped, his dirty blonde hair stained with crimson. His father didn't react; he gazed forward, his eyes still glazed over. He was obviously possessed, maybe even under an _Imperio_.

Dominus still didn't do anything, and Agrican looked frozen in place. The werewolf spat, his mouth curling into a smile. I resisted the urge to vomit when I saw that his dark skin was slippery with Scamander's blood. All around me, the bleachers were silent. Everyone seemed too horrified to react.

"Consider yourself warned," he rasped, kicking Lorcan's limp body away from him. I flinched; the voice was identical to that of the werewolf from before. My last doubts dispelled, I launched myself forward, my wand raised.

"You _bastard!_" I bellowed, tears streaming down my face. I whipped my wand sideways, shouting, "_Stupefy!_" The werewolf dodged the sparks easily, dropping his own wand and launching himself forward –

A flash of gold. He reeled back, grabbing his arm. When he lifted his hand away I saw a glimpse of putrid flesh; the curse had taken out a chunk of his arm around 2 inches in diameter. The reassuring scent of freshly fallen snow and mint spread through the air as Al sped in front of me, dropping from his broom to push me behind him.

"_Who are you_?" he asked harshly, his hand never wavering. I stepped beside him, refusing to hide behind a bloke only a few months older than I.

The werewolf laughed, a blood-curdling keening sound that grated against my ears. He bowed mockingly, his warped hands curling with a dramatic flourish behind his broad back.

"Fenrir Greyback. And you must be Potter's spawn," he rasped. Al stiffened, his hand clenching against his wand. "The Slytherin one, if I might guess. You do have the look of an ambitious, conniving idiot too self-involved to see anyone else," he continued.

Greyback? Numberita whirled as she struggled to place the name through the haze of grief and horror threatening to grip my mind. Voldemort's lackey…a werewolf who bit people even when not a wolf. No one knew what had happened to him after the Great Battle; he'd simply disappeared. He was presumed dead…I scoffed, watching his grinning form. No, he was very much alive.

"Why do you want our wands?" Al demanded, taking a step closer. Greyback growled, his polite façade fading as he clenched his fists and snapped his teeth in an all-too-animalistic way.

"Why else? You wizards have always looked down upon us. Think we're inferior, do you? Kicked out of schools, forbidden from jobs just for being gifted with a wolf's spirit. It is a _gift_, something to be hailed! A blessing. Yet you would try to stamp it down. You won't think us so stupid when we bite the throats out of your loved ones. See how powerful you are without those pathetic sticks you call _wands_," he snarled, taking another step forward. I blinked; try as I might, Numberita couldn't help but see the reason in some parts of his words. The Wizarding World _had_ persecuted werewolves. We'd forced them out of jobs, forbidden them from living normal lives. I pushed those thoughts away, readjusting my grip on my wand as he approached us. Al's shoulders bunched up, his knuckles white as he kept a death grip on his wand.

"Wait for it," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. I nodded slightly; we'd wait until Greyback was close enough for a clear shot before shooting a combined spell.

Greyback paused just outside of the range needed for us to properly hit him. I resisted the urge to curse – shoot! We couldn't risk shooting at him from this distance - we'd risk hitting Mr. Scamander, and he was certainly in no shape to dodge any wayward spells we shot.

He sniffed, his hawk-like nose tilting upwards as he inhaled. After six seconds he brought his head back down, smiling wickedly as he met my eyes. A jolt of recognition shot through me as I was suddenly transported to the terror of that dark night. No…no…my hand shook as I struggled to keep my hand up. _Maybe I'll play with you a bit before killing you_. His slimy words curled through Numberita, paralyzing her as they wrapped their poisonous barbs around all rational thought.

"Adela?" I was dimly aware of Al looking at me worriedly. No…he had to keep his attention on Greyback…he was in danger.

Everything was dulled, faded. My ears roared as I froze, my heart beating unnaturally fast. All I could see were those awful bloodstained teeth. Pale lips pulled back as he smiled, taking another step forward.

"I've found you, little one."

**Author Note: /cowers. Don't kill me! Sorry for the abrupt ending, but it seemed like a good place to stop. Remember – all reviews are returned with a teaser! Well, we're back to the dramatic conflicts. Thanks so much for reading! I love all of your reviews, and I still can't believe how many people are reading this story! It makes me so happy :)**


	31. Rock Cakes and Pregnant Hippogriffs

**Rock Cakes and Pregnant Hippogriffs**

**Author Note: Warning – the beginning of this chapter's pretty dark. Bit of a graphic description towards the end of the first third, so be careful if you get squeamish at that sort of thing. Sorry guys - the dark stuff is going to continue for a bit more, but I'll try and incorporate at least one fluff moment. **

"_Confringo!_"

Greyback roared, Al's spell hitting him directly in the stomach. I snapped out of my haze, whipping my wand forward and sending my own _stupefy_ at him. Lorcan's father remained passive, gripping his wand with loose fingers that brushed the side of his torn trousers. Definitely an _imperio_, Numberita decided in some distant part of my brain. Probably by someone out of eyesight; if the person controlling him could see the conflict here, he or she would surely direct him to help Greyback.

He kept advancing, and I backed away in horror; he'd just gotten hit head-on with a _confringo_ and _stupefy_ – how was he still moving? His movements were admittedly jerky and obviously caused him pain, but he was moving nonetheless. I exchanged a horrified look with Al before raising my wand again, mirroring his actions.

At the last second Greyback paused, cocking his head to the side as if he'd heard something. What was he up to? I watched warily as a slow smile spread across his lips, his scars pulling back grotesquely.

He bowed again, full of derisive mockery.

"It seems our welcome has expired," he said smoothly. He suddenly leaped to the side, tearing a silver medallion from the elder Scamander's waist.

The silver medallion was engraved with intricate swirls, and to my dismay it began glowing a bright blue. A portkey.

Al seemed to realize the same thing, for he jerked forward, a silent "no!" on his lips. I followed him, catching a glimpse of Greyback's laughing face as he was whirled away.

Al tumbled to the ground, clawing at thin air. He roared in rage, slamming his fists onto the damp ground below him. Frustration welled up in me as I flung ol' Bessie to the ground. My eyes drifted unwittingly to Lorcan's prone body, and I choked back a hysterical sob as I rushed to him.

Gods, no.

Memories flashed through Numberita at a disorienting speed as I knelt by his bloodied form, pressing my head to his chest in hopes of a heartbeat.

Lorcan, smirking during Quidditch practice. Lorcan, gazing at Lily Potter with carefully concealed admiration. Lorcan, laughing with Lysander as he spoke of Blibbering Humdingers.

The Pitch was painfully silent. No answering beat, just a slight hiss as I lifted my head from his slippery chest. I was vaguely aware of a warm presence behind me as I stared at Lorcan's body.

I choked back a sob and suddenly warm arms enveloped me. I turned, pressing my tear-stained face against Al's chest.

"He was only _fourteen_, Al," I said, my voice cracking. He tensed his arms, pressing me closer.

"I know, Adela," he said, frustration and grief painting each word a lethal shade.

"_You have been warned_."

I jerked away from Al, turning to face Lorcan's father. Was he even aware that his son had died? Pity welled up in me as I regarded his blank face solemnly. Was there a way to break an _imperio_? I couldn't even bring up the effort to write a mental note to self.

He lifted his wand to his throat, saying, "_Bring the wands_."

Then he closed his eyes and said clearly, "_Exitia_."

Al hissed, lunging forward to try to stop him. Silver lines began weaving out of his wand, winding down to collect at his stomach. Numberita whirled as she tried to place the spell as I followed Al. Lorcan's father opened his eyes, a flash of intelligence coming on to him. The person must have lifted the curse, but why? A sinking feeling burrowed itself in my stomach as a horrified look came to his eyes as he saw Lorcan's bloodied form.

"No," he whispered. He looked downwards, paling even more when he saw the silver strands collecting at his gut. He tried to jerk his wand away from his throat, but it was too late – the spell had already been cast.

The silver sparks flared, gathering into one single lethal shot before slamming into his stomach. His torn shirt burst open as his skin ruptured. I watched, unable to tear my eyes away. The dull roar in my ears grew in volume. I sank to my knees as the man crumpled to his feet, his eyes still open with startled horror.

I turned, vomiting my breakfast of bacon into the short grass. Numberita placed the curse – a particularly nasty entrail-expelling curse invented in the 1600s that had been banned for ages for obvious reasons.

Dear Merlin…I doubled over, vomiting again as I shook. I lifted a trembling hand to swipe half-heartedly at my mouth before standing up on shaking legs. I couldn't faint – not now. Al placed a reassuring hand around my waist, and I leaned into him slightly as I looked up to regard the students surrounding us.

They hadn't done anything.

A pang of anger shot through me momentarily before I caught sight of Rose's grief-stricken face. The anger subsided, leaving only a defeated fatigue in its place. I could hardly blame them; they were scared, and with rightful reason – they were only teenagers. I set my mouth in a grim line, forcing myself to leave Al's comforting hold and approach Lorcan's body.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into Lorcan's ear. Then again, we were all teenagers. We weren't ready for any of this – not for vindictive, crazed werewolves, not for mysterious wizards controlling our loved ones and forcing us to watch them kill themselves.

But of course, the bad guys didn't care about any of that.

I met Rose's eyes again, the first time I'd done so in weeks. Sure, I still felt a pang of guilt as I thought of the library incident. But I shoved it away, replacing it with grim determination. There were more important things to worry about now. People had _died_. If Al hated me forever, then so be it. But until then – we had to find a way to stop this madness.

We had to stop the deaths.

I bent, struggling to lift Lorcan in my arms. Sure, he was still a slight fourteen-year-old, but my arms were weakened with exhaustion and shock. After a second he lifted easily, and I cast Al a grateful smile. He nodded solemnly before adjusting his grip on Lorcan's lower half. I tried to avoid looking at his bloodied throat, instead taking out my wand and casting a healing spell Al had taught me the prior week. His skin knit together as I shut his eyes gently. Al cleaned the blood off of his throat and we gazed at our handiwork; Lorcan looked as if he could be sleeping, his pale hair draping silkily across my forearm. I bit back another sob and looked upwards.

"_LORCAN!_"

I glanced sharply to my right, my heart sinking when I saw Lysander stumbling towards us. His eyes were blurred and he sobbed, his feet catching on themselves as he blundered towards us.

"_LORCAN!"_

He careened towards us, stopping just two inches away from us as he gaped at his twin's limp body. I was suddenly glad that Al and I had cleaned up his body, and when I met Al's eyes I could tell he felt the same. The bleachers were high enough that the conflict had probably been hard to see; no reason for more people than necessary to be scarred. I swallowed, forcing Numberita away from thoughts of bloodied children and hulking wolves.

As Lysander bent over his twin, I saw Al silently vanishing the spilled intestines and transfiguring the father's face into that of a random mediwitch from the last century. My heart ached for Lysander; he'd lost a twin and a father in the course of an hour. I couldn't imagine losing Seth…

"Come, Lysander," I murmured, transferring Lorcan to Al. He nodded at me before heading off to Hagrid's hut. We couldn't trust Dominus any more, so the Headmaster's office was out of the question. Hagrid would know what to do. I transferred my attention back to the shaken boy next to me and wrapped a comforting arm around his thin shoulders.

"Let's get you out of here," I said calmly. He followed me blindly, stumbling at times. I pushed past the stunned students as I headed towards the Ravenclaw Tower.

xxxxxxxx

Fifty-two minutes and thirty one seconds later, I'd managed to get Lysander a cup of tea and a rasher of bacon and sent a letter to both the ministry and Luna Lovegood-Scamander. To my surprise, Lily Potter had shown up fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds ago and was currently sitting quietly with Lysander. I sighed, watching them for another moment before getting up from my perch on the Ravenclaw couch. Time to check on Al.

I stumbled down the stairs, ol' Bessie banging against my hip as I blindly descended marble stair after marble stair. A crowd of worried students clustered around me as soon as I left the Tower, and I fended them off by wearily raising ol' Bessie.

"Right, you lot. Meet in the Great Hall in ten minutes. Tell everyone you see to go there. Do _not _panic – that's what they want us to do. Don't trust Dominus," I ordered. I ignored their cries of confusion over the last bit; I'd explain our suspicions later. Instead, I pushed past them and headed towards Hagrid's hut.

Once I'd crossed the ground and arrived at the small hut Hagrid called his home, the wooden door opened to reveal Al's exhausted face.

"Left Lysander with Lily. I told everyone to meet in the Great Hall in ten minutes – well, eight minutes and twenty seconds now," I reported. He nodded, shutting the door behind me as I slipped past him.

"Right, I suppose we should let them all know what's going on at once," he said, running his hand through his hair. I watched him silently, only breaking my gaze to shake my head at Hagrid's proffered rock cakes – I'd seen what had happened to the last first year brave enough to try them. He was in the infirmary for a _week_ and ended up sounding like a bag full of rocks whenever he moved. Those things were more dangerous than a herd full of pregnant hippogriffs.

"Al, what _is_ going on?" I asked softly. He sighed heavily, slumping into the dark armchair seated next to the flickering fire.

"I don't _know_," he said angrily, his words rushing out of him. I flinched at his tone but said nothing; he was angry, I got it. I was angry too. We'd just seen a fourteen-year-old kid _die_. Speaking of…I looked around the hut for Lorcan but failed to see him anywhere.

"I put 'im in me bed," Hagrid said, his words rumbling. I looked up, my heart aching when I saw that his dark eyes were watery.

Hagrid turned, bumping into his table to slam his fist into the wall. The hut shook as he withdrew his large fist.

"Merlin. He was jus' a little boy," he said, great fat tears dripping down his ruddy cheeks.

"I know," I said softly. "I know."

"I should 'ave 'een there, I was too busy checking on my Blast-Ended Skrewts, I-"

I shook my head quickly and said, "Hagrid. All of the teachers were immobilized. If anyone, _I_ should have done something. Instead I froze like a bloody idiot. I could have shot a spell, thrown myself at him, stopped Lorcan-"

I looked away, bitter hate rising in my throat. I watched Lorcan run to his death without even moving to stop him.

After thirteen quiet seconds I turned to Al, who was looking apologetically at me.

"Look, Adela, I'm sor-"

"It's fine," I cut in. He held my eyes for a second before curling his lips into another sheepish smile. "Any word from the Ministry?"

He sobered, his eyes darkening as he turned to gaze out the window.

"Al?"

"My father's coming."

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts? I watched Al carefully before approaching him, resting my hand on his.

He turned, enveloping my fingers with his as he pulled me into his lap.

"You know what the worst part is? I _agreed_ with what Greyback said. Not the crazed violent stuff, of course but – I mean, this is just the sort of stuff Aunt Hermione's always harping about. We _do_ discriminate against werewolves. Teddy has to bear with insults against his father all the time," he burst out. I reached up to touch his cheek, saying, "Me too."

He blinked and I nodded to reassure him.

"Al. I agree – our society's rubbish. It's like how people discriminated against muggleborns before. But that doesn't excuse Greyback's actions. Killing an innocent child? That's not okay."

I took a second to revel in Al's warmth before continuing, "And that stuff with Lorcan's dad? He was obviously under the Imperio curse. Whoever cast it can't have been watching, otherwise he – or she – would have forced-"

"Him to attack us, yeah," Al finished, nodding along. He looked pensive for a moment, working his lip between his teeth as he thought.

"Greyback didn't seem too adept with his wand. He seemed to favor the more…physical approach. And that still doesn't explain the wizards that were present in the Forbidden Forest – obviously Greyback's managed to convince some wizards to join his cause. But how?" he asked, his hands clenching in frustration.

Numberita thought for a full minute, turning over various possibilities and dismissing them almost immediately. Not even the few people out there who were sympathetic to the cause would be willing to commit so much to freeing werewolves. Had he bribed them? No, from what I'd heard, Greyback wasn't rich. He'd need support of a prominent Pureblood family to bribe wizards into risking the Ministry's wrath, and from what I'd gleaned from my years of eavesdropping at various dinners, the Pureblood families were not involved.

So where had Greyback found a wizard willing to _Imperio_ others? It would have to be someone who wanted the same thing he did. In Greyback's case, equality – no, he wanted werewolf superiority.

Wait. What if that person didn't have to just follow along with _werewolf_ superiority – what if he or she just wanted wizards to be brought down?

Numberita whirled excitedly as new possibilities flitted to me – it would have to be someone – or some race – with a personal vendetta against wizards. Someone who had also been discriminated against.

"Al…" I began slowly. He met my eyes, his bright green eyes catching me off guard momentarily. I swallowed before continuing determinedly. "What if there's a person behind the scenes? I can't imagine Greyback pulling off this whole stuff about leaving the wands – he doesn't seem like the type of person to think things through enough to want us unarmed and helpless. What if that person-"

"Is also someone who has been mistreated!" Al finished animatedly. We shared a quick grin.

"It makes sense. Wizards have treated others horribly for _ages_. House elves…goblins…giants…" I trailed off, casting a glance at Hagrid. As a half giant, Hagrid had suffered more than his share of abuse from the Wizarding world. Hagrid paused in his efforts to bake another batch of rock cakes and tapped his large beard thoughtfully with one grimy hand.

"They're certainly angry 'nough," he said. "Always going off 'bout 'izard scum an' all tha'"

Al frowned, worry flashing through his face. "Merlin. If they have the support of the giants…" he breathed, clenching his grip on his wand. I nodded, matching anxiety filling Numberita.

"It'll be bad."

Moody silence continued for another two minutes and twelve seconds. As fearful as the thought of a werewolf-giant alliance, it still didn't explain Mr. Scamander. Giants, although large and fearful in their own right, could not wield magic to that complicated extent.

"At least we know we can be safe from angry house elves poisoning our food," I offered as an attempt to lighten the mood. Al cracked a smile at that, obviously thinking of the way his aunt had pushed for better hours and wages against the majority of the house elves' wishes.

That left just one group from my list – the goblins. Al was obviously thinking of the same thing, for he said, "What about the goblins? Everyone knows they resent the wizards for taking their silver and other items. There certainly have been plenty of goblin revolutions in the past. They control Gringotts; it could be really bad if they're siding with Greyback."

Hagrid looked positively ill and rushed off to send another letter to Al's dad.

Something from Al's words was nagging at me…Numberita struggled to pinpoint where my unease was originating from.

Wait.

The silver! Numberita flashed back to the glinting medallion hooked around Scamander's waist, remembering the delicate curls that had interwoven across the surface and practically pulsed with life.

"Al – the medallion. It looked goblin made. That would explain the _imperio_ – a goblin can use wandless magic better than most wizards, and it was only for a short time."

"And it would explain why we didn't see anyone! Goblins dislike sunlight, right?" Al continued excitedly. I nodded forcefully, my chin banging into the top of my torn shirt.

"If they do have goblin support…Al, our whole economy depends on Gringotts."

His eyes darkened as he said, "We just have to hope we're wrong – or at least that it's a lone radical goblin doing this. I can't imagine the rest of the goblins being willing to lose their cushy positions without assurance that their side will win."

I nodded grimly, clutching my wand with slippery fingers. "We'll just have to make sure we beat this down before it gets more serious."

After another sixteen seconds I scrambled to my feet, pushing my dirty hair back from my face in a rough ponytail. "Right, I suppose it's time to speak with the rest of the students." He nodded, grabbing my left hand.

"We make a good team," he said, smiling softly. He intertwined my fingers with his, rubbing small circles across my palm with one long index finger.

My heart felt like it was about to burst. His statement was true – he could keep up with Numberita's rapid thoughts effortlessly and was able to act when I was too bogged down with logistics. I could hold him back with rational reasoning when he got too impulsive or tempted to perform something idiotically heroic.

"We really do."

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! It was very hard coming up with a humorous title for this one, considering how dark it was xD Hopefully this chapter cleared up some things. I always wondered about what would happen if all the people wizards treated poorly banned together…and this happened! I thought there were some hints of it with Griphook in canon, so I built upon it ;D Sorry about the graphic description about Mr. Scamander…and the deaths. D: Anyway, please please please review! All reviews will be returned with a teaser of the next chapter c;**

**Oh and note - the teaser I sent yesterday for this chapter was actually an excerpt of chapter 32 (in case you guys were wondering why on earth the teaser wasn't in this chapter). Dear lord I'm going insane argh. Anyway, I'll just pick another excerpt of chapter 32 to send to reviewers ;D**


	32. Counting Sethogriffs

**One Sethogriff, Two Sethogriffs, Three Sethogriffs**

"What happened?"

"Is Lorcan okay?"

"Why do they want our wands? Can't they just buy their own?"

Dear Merlin. THERE WAS TOO MUCH NOISE IN THIS BLOODY ROOM. I couldn't even hear myself _think_, let alone get the attention of dozens of semi-hysterical teenagers.

I took a deep breath, struggling to calm myself down. Right, that wasn't working. Time to count some hippogriffs with Seth's face. Oh, stop judging. It works!

One Sethogriff. Two Sethogriffs. Three Setho-

"GAH SHUT UP!" I bellowed, my voice ringing shrilly through the din. I noticed Al taking a quick step away from me, and I whirled around to glare at him. He offered me a sheepish grin before pointing at his ears and shrugging. Git.

I turned back to the hordes of students currently staring at me and was struck by a sense of déjà vu as I remembered that first Dueling Club meeting all those weeks ago.

I lifted my wand to cast a quick _sonorus _but dropped my hand as Numberita thought back to how Mr. Scamander had used the same spell. I shuddered; I didn't think I could ever cast that spell again.

Al seemed to sense my discomfort, for he wrapped a warm arm around my shoulders before bellowing, "OI! SHUT UP OR I WILL HEX YOU ALL IN YOUR SLEEP!"

They quieted, several throwing disgruntled looks at the Slytherin. I tilted my head upwards to whisper, "In their _sleep_? That's not very honorable." Al rolled his eyes before muttering out of the corner of his mouth, "I'm a Slytherin. Self-preservation, remember? I don't want to get hit _back_." I smothered a laugh and turned to climb onto one of the dining tables. After thirteen seconds of awkward scrambling (and almost falling TO MY DEATH), I managed to get a secure perch on top of the wooden surface. I cleared my throat, my face sobering as I thought of what I'd have to tell them.

"It was Greyback." Cue loud mumbling from the peanut gallery.

"What do you mean, Greyback? He was killed!" Dolohov jeered.

"No."

There was a slight swishing sound as every head turned to face the speaker. I mirrored their actions, my eyes widening when I saw that Rose had spoken. She gave me a slight nod before lifting her chin and raising her voice.

"No one actually knows what happened to him after the Great Battle. No body, no proof. Besides, didn't you see those scars?" she said, her voice unwavering.

Dolohov scoffed and said, "Anyone can have scars." A pale arm draped across Rose's curly red hair, and Scorpius pulled her protectively towards him.

"Watch it, Dolohov," he spat out, his silver eyes narrowing menacingly. Dolohov opened his mouth to jeer something – probably some unintelligent response about pathetic albinos or something – but Al cut him off.

"_Silence!_" The crowd quieted again as Al dropped his arm from my shoulders to step forward.

"Look. Lorcan _died_. This isn't some silly teenage drama. This is _serious_," he said, making sure to make eye contact with as many people as possible. Several girls in the back – I vaguely recognized them to be fourth year Ravenclaws – bit back sobs, their shoulders shaking as horrific recognition dawned to their faces. I watched sadly, unable to say anything to make them feel better. How can you make telling someone of a death any easier? There was no way that Numberita could think of.

"Let's just give the first years' wands! They won't notice any difference – hell, stick in some second years' and third years' if you have to!" a voice suggested from somewhere in the back. I scowled, searching for the speaker, but she was lost amidst a crowd of emerald and silver.

"We are _not _giving anyone's wands to them. We might as well roll over and surrender. At this point the only reason they haven't stormed the castle – and they've obviously found some way to breach the wards, so don't even think about counting on those – is because they probably don't have enough wand power," I said firmly. The Slytherin section scowled and muttered in disgruntled dissatisfaction, but I pointedly looked away from them. They had taken the whole self-preservation thing _way _too far. A horrific thought struck Numberita and I cast a quick look at Al – he wouldn't agree with them, right? He rolled his eyes and shook his head when he noticed my sharp look, and I relaxed. Right. This was Al – the whole "OH I MUST SACRIFICE MYSELF TO SAVE EVERYONE ELSE" thing. Which, now that I thought about it, didn't really fit in with the whole Slytherin thing. But then again, this was the same bloke who was willing to hex helpless people in their sleep. Yes, I decided, Al was a walking contradiction.

Al's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Look, the Ministry's coming later today so we don't have to give up any one's wands or anything rubbish like th-"

"_ADELA!_"

What? I turned, almost falling to my feet as my heel caught against a narrow groove in the worn wood. Al steadied me and I flashed him a grateful smile before redirecting my attention back to the large double doors at the other end of the room.

"_ADELA!_"

I narrowed my eyes as a familiar girl burst through the doors, tear marks shining against her dark skin as she careened forward. Her delicately braided hair rose and fell behind her, the intricate beads catching the light.

She screeched to a stop just two feet away from me, her chest rising and falling violently as she struggled to catch her breath. I stood frozen, my mouth open as I regarded her clearly traumatized form. What had happened?

After another second she rose her head laboriously and gasped out, "X-Xavier. He's – I swear he didn't mean to – something was wrong with him, I don't know what; that wasn't him-" My heart sped up painfully, thumping angrily against my chest. I jumped down from the table and strode towards her.

"_What happened_?" I asked, hysteria and bile rising in my throat. Something really bad had happened; I ran a quick mental list through my head of everyone I held dear, checking them off through Numberita as I saw them around me. Al? No. Scorpius? No. Seth-dear Merlin. No. No. _NO_. New tears sprung to her eyes as she met mine, her dark eyes gleaming behind a veil of tears.

"He – he cursed Seth. In the third floor corrido-"

I was running before she finished her last word. I pushed students away haphazardly as I forced my way to the doors, my heart wrenching with each step. No. Not Seth.

Numberita couldn't help but notice the irony as I ran blindly up the stairs, faster than I'd ever climbed a flight of stairs in my whole life. Just earlier today Lysander lost a twin, and now – no. I wouldn't – couldn't – let myself even consider the possibility. Seth was alive. He _had_ to be.

Each breath rasped painfully against my throat as I pumped my arms forward, my hair streaming behind me as I careened past corridor after corridor. Why was Hogwarts so bloody _big_? Merlin, every second counted – from the sounds of it, Seth was seriously injured. What if Xavier was still under the Imperius? _How_ had he gotten hit with it in the first place?

I ran faster than I had run in my life. Faster than the time in the Forbidden Forest, faster than the time I found out I was in Ravenclaw and wanted to run away from it all.

I burst through the gilded door leading into the third floor corridor, rapidly whirling my head around as I searched the length frantically. God, Seth, where are you?

I heard a slight noise from underneath the rather large tapestry to my right and ran forward blindly, wrenching the tapestry from the wall with strength I hadn't known I possessed. The thick cloth pooled to the ground, releasing a thick cloud of dust that choked the air and constrained my lungs.

I bit back a sob when I saw Seth's golden blonde hair and ran forward, slamming to my knees as I crouched by his head.

I hurriedly pressed my ear to his chest, pushing back the sickening feeling of recognition as Numberita remembered how I'd done this to a very different boy just hours ago. I could only hope the result would be different – did that make me a bad person? I desperately wanted Seth to be alive when Lorcan was dead. There was another twin out there suffering – was it horribly wrong that I wanted _my_ twin to live?

Merlin, I shouldn't be debating morality right now. I screwed my eyes shut, my lips mouthing silent prayers to gods I'd never paid attention to before – hell, I even prayed to the Quidditch gods Wood obsessed over.

I will give up bacon for the rest of my life if this boy lives.

_Bum. Bum. Bum._

I almost cried – this time tears of joy, not grief. He was alive. Barely alive – the pulse was faint – but alive nonetheless. I withdrew slightly to cradle his head in my lap, and this time the tears did fall, hot wet drops that pooled on Seth's bloodied face. He'd been hit by a nasty _confringo_ by the looks of it.

"_Well, isn't this touching_." The voice was hollow, each word dropping emptily. It was Xavier's voice, all right, but it was missing all traces of derisive arrogance I'd come to know him by. I flinched before carefully placing Seth's head back on the floor. I stood slowly, shaking slightly as I faced the wall. Come on, Adela. You can do this. You aren't Awesome Adela for nothing.

I slowly slid my hand to the back of my jeans where my wand was currently placed, turning casually so he couldn't see what I was doing. I didn't know if the person controlling him had eye access as well, but it never hurt to be careful. I casually nudged the tapestry over so that it mostly covered Seth's body.

Raising my eyes to meet Xavier's, I slid my wand from my pocket and held it behind my leg carefully.

"What do you want? We're working on collecting the wands now," I lied. Xavier shook his head condescendingly, his light eyes still eerily empty of any rational thought.

"_Don't lie, little girl. I know you alerted the Ministry of our presence_."

I stiffened, my eyes narrowing in hatred as my hands shook. This person forced a teenager to do his bidding, forced him to hurt _my brother_.

"_Who are you_? Some goblin hiding behind a wizard? Too scared to come out in the daylight, are you?" I spat out venomously.

Xavier blinked before a look of positive delight dawned on his face. He laughed, the sound mechanical and all too creepy. I flinched before resuming an expression of pure loathing.

"_Clever. I would have thought you wizards would be too caught up in your pathetic lives to even consider that a mere goblin had masterminded this. Ravenclaw, are you?_"

I remained silent, not giving him the luxury of a response. Xavier sobered, his face donning a mask of indifference once more.

"_You will tell the Ministry to stay away. I have dozens of students under my control. It would be…unfortunate if they happened to injure someone else. Or themselves. Of course, unfortunate for you, my dear. I couldn't care less what happens to you idiots. You don't deserve those wands_. _And don't even think about running to one of your precious professors. You'll find that they have already taken…well, let's just say they're enjoying a relaxing vacation right about now._"

I stiffened, my hand gripping around my own wand. Well, that explained why I hadn't seen a single professor in the past few hours.

"Sorry, Xavier," I muttered before whipping my arm forward and slashing it in three consecutive slits. I thrust my hand forward, sending the magic rushing towards Xavier. The goblin controlling him obviously didn't have a full handle on him, for he reacted just a moment too slow. Xavier crumpled to the ground, his wand dropping from his frozen hand. I bent down to pluck the wand nimbly from the ground, shoving it down the waistband of my trousers. I spotted a glint of silver hanging from his trouser pocket. I stooped and retrieved it carefully, making sure not to touch the metal. What if it was another portkey? I slipped it into my pocket, holding onto only the leather cord it dangled from.

A low moan sounded from behind me, and I whirled, stumbling slightly in my haste to get to Seth. With one flick of my wand I levitated him off the ground, carefully maneuvering him so that his body didn't touch the walls. I swallowed hard when I saw a slow but steady trail of crimson drip down from his back…the curse must have hit his back. The coward had hit him with his back turned! I pushed down a roar of rage; I would worry about ripping the goblin's throat out later. For now, I had to get Seth to the infirmary.

xxxxxxx

"We need to send the Ministry away," I said, staring at Seth's unconscious body. He looked so frail, so young…I gulped, lifting his hand to press against my cheek. Come on, Seth. You're too good to die. You still have countless years of annoying people left in you.

Silence.

I turned, regarding Al through tear-filled eyes. "_Al_. He's going to kill countless more people if they come. Look, I found this in Xavier's pocket – who knows how many more people are unknowingly under his control," I said furiously, lifting up the medallion by its cord. He flinched at its sight but said nothing, turning to look out the window.

"What if Lily has one? Or Rose? Or-"

"_I get it_."

I bit back a retort, pressing my lips together tightly as I turned back to face my twin. After another moment I heard a frustrated sigh and the light footfalls that signified Al's approach. He rested a light hand on my shoulder, turning me gently so that I met his eyes. As soon as his vibrant green met mine, I broke.

I flung myself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Merlin, Al. What are we going to _do_?" He stroked his hand through my hair, resting his chin on the top of my head.

"I don't know, Adela. I don't know," he said wearily. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to pretend for a moment that everything was okay – we were just hugging like any other couple.

Except we weren't the typical couple, and the infirmary wasn't the normal place to hug.

I groaned, forcing myself to separate from him. He smiled sadly down at me but nodded, understanding my thoughts.

"Right, I suppose I'll owl my father and tell him to stay away – at least for now," he said grimly. I nodded, twisting my fingers in my lap nervously. Were we doing the right thing? His father was a trained Auror – he'd defeated bloody _Voldemort_, for Merlin's sake. How could a couple of sixteen year olds do better than a war hero?

Then Seth's pale face flashed through my mind, followed quickly by Mr. Scamander's hollowed stomach and Lorcan's scarlet throat. I forced my hands to still, a grim glint coming to my eye. As long as they had control over our students, we couldn't rely on the Ministry.

We'd have to solve this problem ourselves.

I brushed one last strand of golden hair from Seth's closed eyes before stepping away from his cot, turning to face Al. He closed the window after the owl and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with slender fingers.

"Let's put that brain of yours to use," he finally said. I nodded, Numberita already coming up with various ways to foil their plan.

Al and I put our heads together, huddling over a worn piece of parchment for hours as we dismissed idea after idea. The light in the infirmary grew dimmer as the sun began to set, each second ticking by as we sped towards the deadline.

xxxxxxx

After several exhausted hours Al and I came up with a feasible plan. He left to check on the Slytherins and Gryffindors while I helped the Head girl, a rather stubborn girl from Hufflepuff, check on the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

Once we'd barred each student safely in their respective rooms and warned them about the medallions, I trudged up the stairs to the Tower. Scorpius and Al were staying with Seth in the infirmary, and I was to join them after running a final check of the Tower.

I wearily closed yet another door before opening the last one – my dorm. Selia and the other girls were huddled together on one bed with Rose on the other side. Rose turned at my entrance, biting her lips nervously.

She flung herself forward, wrapping two slender arms around me in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Oh, Adela!" she said tearfully. "Merlin, are you all right? I heard about Seth. I'm so sorry, I was such a horrid friend-"

I smiled at her, saying, "No you weren't. You were right about everything. I'll tell Al after we get rid of all this rubbish."

She hesitated, concern flashing through her eyes – concern for _me_, I realized with a pang of surprised warmth. Rose Weasley was truly a special person.

"Adela…you-you know this is the one thing Al can't forgive," she began hesitantly. I smiled wryly, pushing down a wave of panic and fear.

"I know," I said softly.

"_What_ thing?" asked Selia shrilly. I turned to see the rest of my dorm staring at me curiously. I sighed; I might as well tell them. I didn't deserve to be able to keep secrets.

"I lied to him. I don't deserve him," I said simply before moving to my bed and quickly scooping up Sir Archibald. Surprisingly, the (evil) cat let me off with only a few scratches before settling in my arms. I smiled down at him softly before striding out the door and closing it softly behind me. I hesitated, taking a moment to collect myself before hardening my jaw and leaving the Tower.

I carried ol' Bessie loosely with my left hand and Sir Archibald with my right, passing corridor after corridor as I headed toward the infirmary.

I would be okay. After all, I was a beater. And now? Now it was time to beat some goblin arse.

**Author Note: Guys. There are only a couple chapters (maybe four or five) after this one. I have no idea how to feel about this…this is definitely my longest fanfic ever and would be the first one I've ever completed. But never fear, the sequel is coming! (That made me think of Game of Thrones but anyway)**

** Thank you so much to everyone for reading/reviewing, I've come to know some of you regular reviewers and I honestly look forward to your reviews! :D As always, all review responses will contain a teaser of the next chapter c;**


	33. The Power of the Wotters

**The Power of the Wotters**

**_Chapter dedicated to sweetly fallen - happy early birthday!_**

I groaned, slamming the heavy book against the table with a disgruntled huff.

"Merlin, why don't you tell me something I _don't_ know?" I said angrily, glaring at the dark book in question. The stupid book just told me the basics – it was an Unforgivable, you'd get sent to Azkaban if you cast it, blah blah blah. A hand reached over to flick my forehead, and I turned to transfer my glare at the Slytherin git beside me.

"Lancaster. Yelling at the book won't help," Al said. I buried my head in my hands, resting my elbows against the library table. Al and I had been in here for _hours_ researching the Imperius curse, and we still didn't understand it well enough to risk calling in the Ministry. I held up the silver medallion carefully by the leather cord, twisting it this way and that so the flickering candlelight gleamed against the intricate grooves.

"We should send this to your dad," I said. He nodded, grabbing a stray piece of parchment and quickly scrawling a quick note with one of my quills. I waved my wand at the medallion, transfiguring the stray bits of parchment into a makeshift container. Handing the package to Al, I watched as he tied it to the dark leg of Seth's owl and send him off.

At least Seth was okay - he'd woken up three hours and sixteen minutes earlier and was currently regaling his house with tales of his bravery and awesome might. Honestly? I couldn't even muster up the will to laugh at him. I was too relieved that he was okay.

I glanced at my watch; four hours and twenty-two minutes left. "Dad said he's managed to hold off the Aurors from coming, but he warned that they'll be coming first thing tomorrow morning if we don't send word by then," he said, a grim expression on his face.

Panic gripped my chest; if they got sent in, who knew how many students they could direct to kill either themselves or each other.

"Al-" I began desperately. He nodded, moving to my side of the table to envelop me in his arms.

"I know," he said softly. I just felt so _helpless_. Numberita couldn't figure out how he'd managed to plant the medallions amongst the students, she couldn't understand how he had visuals – the Imperius curse didn't grant the caster any real-time feedback – or what Dominus had to do with all of this. Or where all the professors and Quidditch scouts were.

This was one of the few times where Numberita couldn't solve it – where I couldn't rely on my brain to get me out of a difficult situation. What kind of Ravenclaw was I? I should be able to do this. I was Awesome Adela!

Although, truth be told, I didn't feel very awesome right now.

My dejectedness must have showed on my face, for Al pulled back and scooped me up in his arms.

I looked up, startled at the sudden movement.

"What are you doing?"

Although his face looked just as tired as mine probably did (we'd stayed up all night alternating between watching over Seth and Xavier and researching this bloody curse), he managed to curl his lips into the familiar Albus Potter smirk I'd grown to tolerate and, well, love.

"No mush?" he said lightly. My lips twitched, but I reached over to smack his chest.

"Al! This is serious! We don't have time for-_mmph_!"

I relaxed as hot fire coursed through my body, closing my eyes as Al's lips pressed against mine. I groaned, reaching up to pull his head closer to mine. He staggered over to the window seat five inches away and sprawled on top of it, still snogging me forcefully.

Numberita was going into overdrive; I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

All that existed was Al. Merlin, this boy will be the death of me.

I ran my fingers through his hair, reveling in the feel of the silky strands against my rough skin.

"Mm-" he groaned against my lips, pausing to stare deep into my eyes. I held my breath, unable to look away from those dangerous green irises. He leaned in to capture my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled gently, drawing back after seven seconds to rest his forehead against mine.

Holy hippogriffs.

"Merlin, Adela…we need to stop now," he said hoarsely. His voice was rough, deeper than normal. My lips turned down as I leaned in closer to Al, breathing in his intoxicating scent. Numberita was still in paralyzed, and I hardly knew what I was doing – all I knew was that I wanted to be closer to his warmth.

I wrapped my arms around his neck but pouted when he grasped them lightly and pinned them to my sides.

"Lancaster. If we don't stop now, I don't think I can hold myself back," he groaned. I paused, my eyes searching his face. Al was breathing heavily, his eyes hooded as he stared back at me. I flushed, settling against the wall a safe ten inches away from him.

It was a full seventy-two seconds before Numberita could gather herself enough to reboot.

"Merlin's beard," I breathed. He laughed, the smell of fresh pine trees and crisp snow wafting over me as his breath ghosted over my tingling lips. He leaned back against the library wall and regarded me, a mischievous glint in his almond-shaped eyes.

"No clever words from the Ravenclaw?" he teased. I scowled, my lips twitching as I struggled to keep up a stern demeanor.

"Al, there is a bloody _werewolf_ out there, we ca-" I began. He pressed a slender finger against my lips, saying, "Adela. You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. There is absolutely no way we'll be of any use if we work straight through. We need to keep our minds off this."

I began to protest, but he cut in before the words could fully leave my lips.

"I'm not saying we completely forget about all this – it's a serious problem. It won't hurt if we take thirty minutes to just relax. Nothing will happen in those minutes; they're not going anywhere."

I paused; I could see the reasoning behind his words. I already felt loads better than I had just mere minutes ago; the endless hours hunched over the wooden table hadn't done me any good. I nodded reluctantly and said, "Fine. But just thirty minutes."

His lips quirked into a lopsided smile as he said, "Right. Murderous werewolves aside, this has turned out to be a pretty great year."

I grinned, leaning in to press my lips against his.

"Even if you did insist on causing me undue stress for the majority of it," he couldn't help but add. I scowled, shaking my finger menacingly at him. He laughed, capturing my hand with his own.

"When did you first see me as – well, not just your best mate's twin sister?" I asked before I could stop myself. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, still holding my hand within his own.

"Merlin, woman. So much romantic crap," he teased. I rolled my eyes but remained silent, waiting for his response. After another thirty-two seconds I was rewarded.

"I mean, I've always thought you were pretty, but I guess I didn't fully acknowledge you as a person and not just my mate's sister until that time when we had to serve detention in the Forbidden Forest," he said finally. I flushed; he thought I was pretty? I grinned, thinking of the way the honking daffodils had moaned obnoxiously throughout the whole journey and the way he'd been so gruff.

"Figures that it took a bloke nearly offing us for you to acknowledge the awesomeness that is me," I said flippantly. He laughed softly before lifting my hand to rest on his knee.

His cold fingers trailed lightly over the delicate skin of my wrist before his hand flipped my hand over deftly. I pulled away, watching him as Al bent his head to examine the slender watch encircling my wrist.

I shivered, watching wide-eyed as the ends of his hair just brushed my upper arm. After eight seconds he looked up from underneath his lashes and said flatly, "Only sixteen minutes left."

I raised my hand to cup his cheek, pulling him back up to face level.

"Sixteen minutes is a long time," I said firmly. He smiled before pulling me in.

"Indeed," he murmured against my cheek. I sighed, my eyes fluttering shut as his lips trailed down my ear to my collarbone, leaving a trail of molten fire and electricity across my neck.

I pushed away Numberita's nagging insistences of there being only fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds left. Because honestly? I had no idea if I was going to survive to see tomorrow's light. Our plan was risky, foolhardy. But it was the only one we had…and until then, I would push away all of my Ravenclaw reluctance and pull a Gryffindor.

As I pressed another kiss to Al's jaw, I couldn't help but think that maybe Gryffindors were onto something with their reckless carpe diem philosophy.

Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal that I wasn't in Slytherin. Maybe the Houses didn't have to be set in stone – maybe there were some things more important than House colours and pride.

xxxxxxxxx

"We want to help."

"No."

Rose blinked, her mouth dropping open – she certainly hadn't expected Al to shoot her down so quickly. After the sixteen minutes had finished, Al and I had reluctantly separated. Of course, we were ambushed the second we left the library. She crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest, her cheeks reddening as she fumed silently for another twenty seconds. Rose gestured behind her at the crowd of Wotters waiting behind her before saying in an eerily quiet voice, "Albus Severus Potter. You have _no_ right to dictate who helps and who stays."

I spared a quick glance at Al; his face was grim, his jaw set in a hardened series of sharp angles. Dear Merlin.

"No."

Rose spluttered for ten seconds before looking back for back up. Fred spoke up next, saying, "Look, Al. I'm of age. You're not. You have no authority over me – or any of this lot, for that matter. If we want to help, we should be able to." Al's expression didn't change, and I groaned inwardly. We didn't have time for Wotter fighting; there were only three hours and ten minutes until the deadline. Al and I still had to sort out the last of our plan and gather up the decoy wands…not to mention ensure that the first years and second years weren't off blowing things up or something.

"We don't need _his_ permission. Let's just go now and beat their bloody arses!" I stiffened, immediately recognizing the low voice of one James Sirius Potter. Al did as well, for he immediately tensed, his fists balling up and shaking slightly.

James pushed out from behind Dominique, his arms folded loosely across his broad chest. He sneered in Al's direction before advancing, his blue eyes narrowed and his dark brown hair as messy as ever.

Merlin, he was such a Gryffindor. He was even more impulsive than _Al_, and that was saying something! He would get his whole family killed if he barged into their hideout without a plan. Couldn't he see that he was risking not only his life but dozens of others as well if they went now? The werewolves and goblins would see it as a direct attack and force the students into either killing themselves or their friends. It would be a massacre.

The two Potters were currently engaged in a testosterone-infested staring match. Numberita noted that they were exactly the same height and shared similar facial features, although James had a tanner complexion and lighter hair while Al's nose was a few centimeters more slender and his eyes almond-shaped.

"We can't just _barge_ in!" I said. James looked over at me, seeming startled to see me right next to him. I rolled my eyes when I saw that Al looked a bit surprised at my words. Honestly, it was like they'd been off in their own little world. James dismissed me after three seconds of incredulous staring, turning back to face his little brother. I scowled at the dismissal; I was Awesome Adela!

"You _idiot_. Are you really willing to risk the lives of Lily? Of Rose? Of everyone else in this whole bloody castle?" I shouted, my words rising in increasing hysteria. How had I ever fancied him? I sneered at his attempt to speak, moving forward to place a finger against his mouth.

"No. _You_ listen. We are on the brink of a bloody _war_, James. How can you be so – so _blasé_ about goading the other side into officially starting the war? Do you know how many people will die? And all this argumentative shit just because you can't stand to see Al lead or even take charge – do you really hate him so much? This whole fighting stuff has to stop _right now_. You guys are bloody _brothers_, for Merlin's sake! You're supposed to support each other! Have some sensitivity - Lorcan _died_. How can you treat your sibling this way? So Al's a Slytherin – big fucking deal. It's just a _house_. Al's the same person now as he was before the Sorting – before you decided to act like a huge git. So either sod off or get your act together and make up with him!"

I breathed heavily, the last word spitting out of my mouth. James flinched. My finger shook slightly as I jabbed it into his chest with each forceful word. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fred smothering a laugh and Rose looking stunned. I carefully avoided Al's gaze – what if he got angry at me for doing this? I knew he was really sensitive about the whole James thing. Would he resent me for speaking for him? No. This I would not apologize for. It was about time someone kicked James off of his high perch, and I would not say sorry for giving him a solid dose of Adela reality.

After thirteen silent seconds I withdrew my hand, smoothing the front of my trousers. I kept my eyes narrowed, staring at James with a dangerous glint in my eye.

He looked a bit frightened – good. And I hadn't even needed to use ol' Bessie! I stepped back eight inches to allow him some space (because I was a generous person and all that). He finally managed to shut his mouth after another thirty-two seconds, his gaze drifting hesitantly to his younger brother.

"I-sorry," he muttered gruffly. "I guess I just didn't know how to react with you being a Slytherin. I stopped caring by third year, but by then I was too bloody proud to act any different." I finally tilted my chin up to meet Al's eyes. To my relief, he didn't look angry. He gave me a fleeting reassuring smile before turning to face his brother.

"Sorry I was a right prat about Knightcast," Al replied. James smiled ruefully, shaking his head slightly.

"Nah, I found her scheming to slip you another love potion over the summer anyway. I told her to stuff the potion up her arse," James said lightly. Al laughed, his shoulders straightening as if a great weight had just been lifted from them. And in a way, I suppose it had. I smiled softly as I watched them hug briefly in one of those awkward "I'm too manly to hug so I'll pat you on the back and call it a not-hug when in reality it really is just a hug."

"Thanks, Adela," Rose whispered in my ear. I jumped three centimeters before returning her smile. Before I could reply, however, Fred Weasley interjected with one of his infamously blunt statements.

"It's about bloody time you two made up! I was getting sick of hearing you moan," he said, lifting a hand to drape across his forehead dramatically. I rolled my eyes, unable to stop a grin from stealing across my face.

I tucked my left hand into the pocket of my trousers, hiding the watch that was currently ticking down the seconds until the deadline. I didn't want to have to think about vindictive werewolves or crazed goblins – not now. Not when things were finally starting to look up.

"Let's kick some werewolf arse!" I looked over to see Lily, her petite hand raised in a determined fist eight inches above her head. I realized with a start that she was holding her other arm protectively around Lysander's shoulders.

Lysander smiled wearily at me, his eyes still dull and devoid of the cheerful spark that had been there before. I swallowed hard, unable to stop an overwhelming feeling of guilt from rushing up and pulling the rug out from underneath my feet. I was the reason his twin was dead.

A comforting hand pulled me close to Al's solid warmth, and I looked up and smiled weakly.

"You okay?" he murmured. All around us the Wotters were cheering triumphantly, their wands pulled out and ready to fight. Maybe we stood a chance together – Numberita was already reconfiguring the plan to accommodate for the extra numbers, calculating our chances for survival. They weren't good, but they were certainly better than they had been before.

I nodded, saying, "As okay as I can be."

He hesitated for a second before leaning down and pressing a searing kiss to my cheek. Fred Weasley contributed to the moment by emitting some rather crude catcalls. Al ignored him, smirking when my cheeks flushed bright red.

"Just – thank you," he said sincerely before leaving to stand next to James. I watched him silently. He and James really did make a great pair – I couldn't help but think that when they were together, there was nothing they couldn't do.

The Potter boys had finally reconciled. And it had only taken the threat of a bloody war for it to happen.

I chuckled softly to myself before joining the group. I took my place at Al's side, meeting everyone's eyes solemnly before pulling out the sheet of parchment I'd placed in my pocket.

"Right, here's what we're going to do…"

**Author Note: Thanks so much to everyone for reading! Yay – James and Al finally reconciled! It's so odd – I'm slowly but surely tying up the loose ends, but I feel quite sad about doing it b/c I know it means this story's coming to an end. But don't worry – there are still a few chapters (and a whole bloody sequel) left! :D Oh goodness I just wish I had unlimited time to write haha - I have so many ideas that are just pushed to the back burner b/c I have no time to write them :( I tried injecting a tiny bit of fluff at the start just to provide a break from all this heavy angst/darkness. Please review! All reviews are responded to with a teaser of the next chapter c;**

** sweetly fallen - sorry for lack of double update, but hopefully this (early) chapter dedication makes up for it! Happy birthday and thanks for reading! :)**

**Also - you might be saying - Eliene, why the early update? Well, I'll be away this weekend so I thought instead of making you guys wait I'd just go ahead and update a day early :)**

**UPDATE MAY 5th 2013 - I am so sorry, but I have loads of SAT and AP exams to do in the next coming weeks. As a result, I haven't had any time to write :( My last exam is June 1st - I promise I'll update as soon as I can! Thank you for your patience! **

**~Eliene**


	34. Drunken Gnomes in the Slytherin Dungeons

**Drunken Gnomes in the Slytherin Dungeons**

It was odd, really.

Just a few hours ago my greatest worries were 1) whether one could suffer from a bacon deficiency and 2) how to tell Al that I'd been lying to him for the past couple of months.

Now? Well…now it felt like I was living some melodramatic fictional story.

I craned my neck downwards, looking at my watch for the sixteenth time in ten minutes.

3 hours until midnight. 3 hours until the deadline. 3 hours until this plan either worked…or didn't.

I sighed, nervously rolling my slender wand between my fingers. The past few hours had really done its toll on the wood; the end was a bit sticky from a few drops of spilled pumpkin juice (the result of a hurried lunch at the hands of a castle full of house elf-less students – note to self: find out where the house elves went). Glancing over at the prone form lying on the bed to my right, I smiled wryly. Seth's golden hair was splayed across the cream-coloured pillow, his eyes fluttering slightly as he breathed deeply.

"Seth…what would you do if you were me? Probably run out screaming 'battle cry' or some rubbish like that," I said quietly, leaning forward and propping my chin on the heels of my hands.

No answer.

"Seth. You lazy git. Get your arse out of bed," I tried.

Still nothing.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, blinking back burning tears. Seth didn't deserve to be lying in the infirmary. Lorcan didn't deserve to die. I shook my head quickly, dispelling my thoughts. I didn't have time to whine or dwell on the past – get a grip, Adela. You're Awesome Adela! You can do this. But still…

"Seth Lancaster I swear I'll burn all your belongings to the ground if you don't wake up right now!" I threatened loudly, reaching over to jab at his cheek.

A slight cough sounded from behind me, and I whirled around with my wand held in the optimal position for casting a quick battle spell (a 76˚ angle, in case you were wondering). Oh. James.

"What?" I snapped, remembering how he'd acted like a headstrong git just an hour before.

He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot. Reaching up to ruffle his hair, James said, "We have a situation."

I groaned; when did we ever not have a situation?

I stood up from my perch on the rickety chair, stuffing my wand into the pocket of my trousers.

"Lead the way."

xxxxxxxx

James led me through six corridors and seven turns, pausing at the third floor hallway. Numberita observed idly that several of the tapestries were looking a bit worse for the wear; obviously the Prefects hadn't been able to keep a hold on all of the rambunctious first and second years…and a few of the third years, by the look of that paint-splattered painting of Merlin. I groaned inwardly; honestly, it was a wonder we had managed to stop them from sending mail to their parents. Nico and Wood were currently camped out at the Owlery to turn away any distraught students; while we knew their parents had the right to know what was going on at Hogwarts, we also knew that the second an over-protective parent heard that his or her DARLING PRECIOUS DIDDLYWINKS was in danger was the second that they would come storming over to Hogwarts…and the second the goblins would activate the medallions.

The medallions.

I blindly pushed past a throng of fifth years, following James absent-mindedly as my brow furrowed; Numberita still had to figure out a solution for those medallions. I'd already solicited the help of Lily and her gang of friends and the Prefects to discretely search the persons of every student they could…but what if it wasn't enough? The goblins just needed one person to control and use to kill others.

Two minutes and thirteen seconds later, I became aware that we had stopped. I blinked, dispelling my thoughts, and looked up at James's blue eyes.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer, instead moving slightly out of the way to let me through. I frowned, side-stepping him and gaping slightly at the sight before me.

Dear Merlin.

Scorpius had a huddled form at wand point, his white-blonde hair disheveled and his usually pale face a flushed red. His shirt was rumpled; Numberita quickly deduced that he had been in a fight perhaps six minutes ago, judging by the state of the quickly coagulating blood dotting his left forearm.

I hurried forward, drawing my wand smoothly from my pocket and pushing away the horde of onlookers.

"Scorp. Status," I snapped, bending down to try and get a better look at the quivering mass of cloth.

"I found him about five minutes ago. I can't tell who he is – his face is too swollen, a stinging jinx by the looks of it. I figured I'd keep him still until you could show up," he reported. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; only a Slytherin would rely on forcibly holding someone instead of asking them first.

"Right. You lot – go back to your houses, listen to the Prefects," I ordered briskly, glaring pointedly at the three rowdy second years at the front of the horde. They grumbled but dispersed after I lifted ol' Bessie. Satisfied that they had left, I turned on my heel and yanked the dirty robes from the intruder's face.

I hissed slightly between my teeth; the man's face was swollen to unrecognizable proportions, his nose bulbous and a muddy purple-red colour that did _not_ look healthy. His cheekbone was inflamed and dried blood dotted the area around an angry gash. I glanced sharply up at Scorpius, who shrugged unapologetically at my pointed gaze.

"I figured it would be safer to hit first and ask questions later, considering the dire nature of our predicament," he said dryly. I opened my mouth to retort but closed it again when the man let out a half-strangled groan.

Healing spells were not my forte. We'd already stationed the students best gifted at healing spells in the infirmary, but it would take time and a lot of damage-causing jostling to get this man over there. I looked at Scorpius, sighing inwardly; if only Scorpius had inherited his father's healing skills.

Okay, Numberita. Concentrate. Numberita began to dredge up long-buried memories of professors droning on and on about healing techniques. Closing my eyes tightly, I slowly lifted my arm and opened my mouth.

"_Episkey_," I said clearly, jabbing my arm forward in one quick movement. Opening my eyes, I saw the cut on the man's face had cleared up somewhat, but the swelling wasn't going to fade until the jinx wore off. Peering closer, I saw that the man was unconscious. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.

"I'll take him to the Slytherin Dungeons and have some people keep an eye on him," Scorpius offered.

"Sounds great," I said without turning, still staring at the man's engorged face. Who was he? How did he get into Hogwarts? Was he a teacher? One of the goblin's henchmen? How did he get hit with a Stinging Jinx – was it self-inflicted? Questions peppered Numberita mercilessly, droning out all other thoughts.

I scowled in frustration and shoved my wand back into my pocket, turning away from the man.

Catching Scorpius's eye, I opened my mouth again. "Thanks, Scorpius," I said sincerely. He paused for two seconds before quirking a smile.

"Any time."

After Scorpius left, I turned to look out the window at the dark murky blob I knew to be the Forbidden Forest. Torchlight flickered out of the corner of my eye, weak splashes of light struggling to fend off the darkness that came with the night.

Two hours and six minutes left.

Well, time for another meeting.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Right, you lot. I'm only holding this meeting because I wanted to make sure _certain_ people," I began, shooting a pointed look at Fred. He shrugged innocently, holding up his hands in surrender. "Knew the plan," I continued. I'd gathered the Wotter clan and a few others in the library to discuss the plan, each member of the family sprawled out on various pieces of furniture dotting the warmly lit room.

Al sighed next to me, his foot tapping the ground impatiently as he stared out the window at the forest. He was itching to go, his shoulders tense and his fingers tightly gripping his wand. I reached over to punch his arm lightly before continuing the speech Numberita had prepared. The git could at least pay attention.

Al scowled but relaxed his grip somewhat, transferring his attention back to me. I flushed slightly at the feel of those piercing green eyes on mine, instead forcing myself to meet the eyes of everyone I had gathered. Lily. Rose. Dominique. Fred. James. Al. Scorpius. Lysander. Wood. Hugo.

"Adela. Don't worry," Rose said. I held her eyes for twenty-two seconds before nodding tightly, letting my shoulders fall a bit. Everyone looked haggard and tired; without house-elves, the kitchens had been a mess and that had taken a good four hours and sixteen minutes to clean up. Not to mention the threat of the Imperius medallions. And the goblins…

Blargh.

I glanced at my watch; thirty-one minutes and twelve seconds until midnight.

"Right, I suppose we best be off then. And-good luck," I finished. Lily, Hugo, Dominique, and Fred ran to their places dotting the castle, ready at a split-second's notice to petrify a student if they saw any sign of a medallion.

Wood, Scorpius, James, and Lysander would be discretely following Al and me while we left to confront Greyback with a bag full of roughly-wand shaped sticks that Nico and Lily had collected earlier today.

I turned to look at Al, nodding at him as a look of understanding passed between us. Too many lives depended on this night – we couldn't mess this up.

"Adela!" Scorpius came bursting into the library, his emerald and silver tie flying behind him as he ran.

"It's – the man – it's Agrican!" he panted. My eyes widened; _what_? In the brief moments Numberita had had to dwell on the man, she had hypothesized it to be one of the goblin's henchmen. But _Agrican_? There was no way he could be under the goblin's control – he _hated_ violence. He made us stare at bloody hippie posters all day, for Merlin's sake!

"There's no way," I whispered, frozen in shock. "No. He can't be working for the werewolves. He _hates_ violence, Al!"

Al cursed under his breath before quickly approaching me, gripping my shoulders tightly with two warm hands.

"Adela. Lancaster. Snap out of it! _Think_, Adela. Are you refusing to believe that Agrican could be under goblin control because it's true, or because you didn't come up with it? Don't let Ravenclaw pride cause the loss of hundreds of lives!" he said fiercely. I recoiled automatically at his harsh words. _No_, I wasn't just refusing to believe it because Numberita hadn't come up with it! I had evidence to back it up!

…

But what _did_ I have, really? A handful of posters and peace speeches? Anyone could put up a few posters and spew out a few words. I pushed down my pride, instead gritting my teeth and standing up.

"Right. Let's go," I said resolutely.

As I walked beside Al and Scorpius, Numberita flashed to my memory of Seth's bloodied face. My eyes narrowed determinedly as I increased my pace so that I was walking at 150% of my old rate. Although Numberita balked at the idea of being wrong, I wasn't about to let my pride get in the way of the safety of others.

After six minutes and twelve seconds, we arrived at the broad stonewall that signified the secret entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Al drew out his wand and tapped the stones in several rapid movements before saying, "_Salazar_." The torch-illuminated stones withdrew silently, revealing a darkened corridor leading downwards. I pushed down a shiver; how had I ever wanted to live in this common room? It was downright creepy. I half expected to see drunken gnomes in pink tutus hanging about in the recesses.

Another two minutes and seven seconds saw us in the large common room. Green light flickered eerily as the sound of murky water coasting languidly past stained glass windows filled the room. I made out several dark forms swimming past the windows; the Slytherin Dungeon was placed partly underneath the lake – Seth reckoned he saw the Giant Squid one time in fourth year.

"Over here," Scorpius called. I dodged several ornate emerald armchairs and ran forward, bumping into a glass table along the way. Cursing softly, I swatted at my knee before approaching the huddled form on the plush emerald couch situated directly in front of the flickering fireplace.

I squinted my eyes, struggling to make out the man's features in the weak firelight.

"_Lumos_," came a deep murmur from behind me. Pale blue light spilled out from behind me, throwing the man's features into harsh contrast. "Thanks," I said without looking back. Al didn't reply, instead shifting so the wand was held closer to the man's face. The swelling had gone down a considerable amount, leaving his pale features fully visible. I bit back a groan, recognizing the man's fine wrinkles and large nose immediately.

Agrican.

I let out a shaky breath, steeling myself for twelve seconds. Okay. I could do this. There must be some rational explanation – it just didn't add up.

I withdrew my wand and muttered, "_Enervate_." Agrican's eyelids fluttered for seven seconds before opening, revealing the watery blue eyes I was so used to seeing from behind a wooden desk.

"What are you doing here?" Al asked harshly. Confusion flashed through Agrican's eyes – eyes in which I had never seen anything other than pacifism and the occasional bout of frustration at Dominus's actions – before being replaced by intense fear.

"B-boys?" he asked tremulously, his voice quivering delicately. Well. It was just bloody fantastic to know that even in times of extreme duress, people were still referring to me as male. Great. Thank you, Agrican. Al narrowed his eyes, his dark hair spilling over his pale forehead as he scowled.

"_What are you doing here_? Where is everyone?" he repeated, jabbing his wand at Agrican's throat in a not-so-subtle threat. The poor man looked like he was about to wet himself – honestly, Numberita knew that he didn't pose a threat. He went around preaching pacifism, for Merlin's sake! I was about to protest Al's actions when Scorpius withdrew his wand and joined Al's at Agrican's throat.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! One second I was prepared to start watching the Quidditch match, the next I was being punched unconscious!" he said, drawing up his bony knees to his chest in an attempt to make himself appear smaller. A twinge of guilt darted through me as his actions reminded me painfully of how I had acted during my first year at Hogwarts – how I had acted around Father.

"Guys, I-"

"Adela. He's lying," Al said brusquely, not bothering to look at me. I scowled; how did _he_ know?

"We're Slytherins. Liars make the best lie detectors," Scorpius said simply, answering my unspoken question.

"Adela? Miss Lancaster? You are here too?" Agrican seemed genuinely surprised. Numberita noted with a hint of wariness that the fearful quivering had all but vanished from his voice. Why was he surprised to see me? Where did he think I was? Noticing my narrowed eyes, Agrican quickly hid his face behind two gnarled hands, shivering slightly.

"I am terribly sorry to hear what happened to Lorcan," he began, his voice dripping with regret. He was the very picture of innocence, just a kind (albeit a bit crazy) old man who was more at home regaling grandchildren of times gone by than here at a potential mass murder scene.

And yet…here he was. Wait. His words nagged at Numberita – something was off.

Numberita ran over his past words carefully, dissecting the words and splicing them together as I struggled to pinpoint the discrepancy.

He felt guilty at Lorcan's death. He claimed the last thing he remembered before appearing at the castle was _preparing_ to watch the Quidditch match. Al speeding to catch the Snitch, several points having already been won. The bang, Greyback's appearance. Then Lorcan.

And there it was, clear as day.

Without breaking eye contact, I moved my arm up and pointed my wand to join the two others currently aimed at Agrican's throat.

"Game's over, Agrican," I said. "_Where are the others_?"

He blinked, his kindly face quickly morphing into a twisted disgust. "You despise me," he spat out. "Bloody people with your bloody wars and destruction. The only thing you lot are good at is killing other people. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," he hissed, jolting forward. Several veins protruded from his pale skin as he spat out each venomous word, his eyes bulging with barely-suppressed rage. I blinked; did he not realize the hypocrisy of his statements?

"You're supporting people who would calmly allow the deaths of _hundreds_ of _students_," Al said incredulously. Agrican shook his head forcefully, his neck scraping past the three wands still pressed against his throat.

"A small price to pay for a peaceful world," he argued. "It's for the greater good!" At his words, Scorpius hissed slightly, his hand tightening on his wand. His already-pale knuckles had whitened to a deathly pallor, his eyes narrowing dangerously and his jaw clenching. Oh no. The whole wizarding community had a bit of a problem with that phrase – it was Grindelwald's justification for his vindictive journey as well as Dumbledore's earlier catchphrase. Scorpius's father – and, by extension, Scorpius – were both incredibly sensitive when it came to matters concerning Dumbledore.

Suddenly, a thought came upon Numberita – both Agrican _and_ Dominus had been able to move at the Quidditch match. Where was Dominus in this? Horror gripped my heart – was he planting more medallions while we were distracted with Agrican? I tightened my grip on my wand, jabbing it closer to Agrican's throat. He gulped, silenced by the forceful movement.

"Where is Dominus? How are you working together?" I hissed, Numberita whirling to analyze his facial movements.

Genuine surprise – huh? Was he just surprised that we had figured out his alliance with Dominus?

After a moment he threw back his head and laughed, his mouth widening into an almost grotesque caricature of a grin.

"Oh, innocence. How endearing – this is what I am working to better the world for – to protect your innocence!" Agrican said sincerely.

I shared a confused look with Al – what? What did he mean, _innocence_? Had Numberita been wrong about yet another thing? Note to self: recheck Numberita's status. Perhaps she got injured by the traumatic events?

Seeing our confusion, Agrican rolled his eyes, at once eerily resembling the professor we had known for the past six years.

"Dominus is strong, yes – he was able to resist _his_ spell. Dominus, however, is a coward. You will find he is…predisposed at the moment," he boasted. I pushed down the urge to punch his smug face, instead telling myself that I should be thankful that Agrican had fallen into the overused stereotype of the "OH I'M A VILLAIN AND SEEM TO BE AT A TURNING POINT, WELL MIGHT AS WELL SPILL MY ENTIRE PLAN" trap.

"_Where are they_?" repeated Al. Agrican smiled, quirking one snow-white eyebrow.

"Now, you didn't think I'd spill _everything_, now did you Mr. Potter? Good bye!" he said gleefully, ducking underneath our arms with agility surprising for a man of his age. Whipping out a familiar silver-blue medallion from underneath his blood-splattered shirt, he cast one last wink before the medallion glowed blue, sucking Agrican away in a vortex of dizzyingly bright light.

"Wards are down," Scorpius said after a full minute. He was right, of course; why hadn't I thought of that before? The full significance of his actions hit Numberita – Greyback had used a similar Portkey before at the Pitch, but I'd been too distracted with Lorcan and Seth to pay attention to it. Hogwart's wards were practically impenetrable – the only time they'd been down was during the Great Battle. The goblins didn't have the power to bring the wards…did they? I shook my head, instead choosing to resort to the comfortable reliability of sarcasm to distract myself from my troubling train of thought.

"No, really," I couldn't resist saying. He cast me a wounded look before saying, "Well, I'm off to check on Rose. See you in ten minutes."

"No."

Scorpius paused, his foot just touching the corridor leading to the exit. I joined his incredulous look as we both gazed at Al in confusion. What did he mean, no? I glanced at my watch; the plan was set to occur in nine minutes and thirty-two seconds. He couldn't call it off now! Sure, Agrican had complicated measures a bit, but we hadn't revealed anything about our plan.

"You saw how surprised he was to see you were here, Adela. He knows we're planning something – in fact, I'd bet my last vial of pumpkin juice that he was expecting you to be already on your way to the forest. The fact that he wasn't surprised to see me is worrisome; he should have known we would go together. So the question is – why would he think only _you_ would go?" he said fiercely, his dark brows furrowed as he thought. I paused; Al was right – the goblins and Greyback saw how Al and I were practically attached at the hip by the events at the Quidditch pitch. Why would they think I would go alone?

The answer hit me at the same instant Al opened his mouth to speak again.

"He would have known how impulsive you get when someone close to you is threatened," Al realized.

The room was spinning, the green light flickering in and out of my view. Someone was crushing my heart, stifling Numberita. I sunk to my knees, my wand clattering from limp fingers to lie on the plushly carpeted floor. Al and Scorpius were here, so it wasn't them. It wasn't Rose or any of the Wotters – otherwise Agrican would have been surprised to see Al as well. That left only…

"Seth," I breathed.

**Author Note: This chapter took all day to write. I kept rewriting and rewriting…that long break really made me forget where I was with this story! Again, I am so sorry about the wait…but my exams are over now! :D I hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter – please review! (All reviews, as always, get returned with a teaser of the next chapter)**


	35. The Adela Beater Face

**The Adela Beater Face**

"Adela!"

Seth. Sethogriff. Seth Gideon Lancaster. I clawed blindly at my hair, my bruised and roughened fingers digging into my scalp as I struggled to keep Numberita in line. A rapid-fire procession of bloodstained images stabbed through Numberita – Seth, bleeding underneath Greyback's feet. Seth, lying pale and lifeless. Seth, a goblin cackling gleefully over his corpse. _No_, Adela. _Stop_ thinking like that.

I became vaguely aware of two strong hands gripping my shoulders, a muffled voice scratching annoyingly at the outer perimeters of my consciousness.

_"Adela!_"

Where was my wand? I had to go – now. I slammed clumsily forward, scraping my knees and elbows on the harsh stones laid in the floors of the Slytherin Dungeon as I reached for my wand. Where was that bloody wand? I bit back a scream of frustration, angrily swiping at the stubborn tears that dripped down my cheeks.

_"LANCASTER_."

I paused, looking blearily up to see a sea of emerald. Al. My gaze quickly traveled over the face I had grown so fond of before dropping down to see a familiar red-brown, slender object clenched tightly between his long fingers. My wand.

"Albus Severus Potter. _Give me my wand_," I said fiercely, my voice lowering threateningly.

"Al…" came a low voice from across the room.

I flicked a quick glance over to the left, registering with muted surprise that Scorpius was still in the room. My gaze quickly slid back to Al's face, a deep scowl turning my lips down.

"_Give it to me_," I repeated, holding out my hand. I was five seconds away from just tackling him. Sure, Al had a few (okay, many, considering I was only around 5' 4") inches on me and a couple pounds of muscle, but I could still take him – I had both my beater skills and pure desperation on my side.

"Lancaster. What happened to the whole 'don't be so reckless' thing? This is what he _wants_ you to do," Al said, still lifting the wand high above my reach.

"Don't you think I _know_ that? But Al – think about the alternative. What else can I do? What if it was James that Greyback had? Can you honestly look me in the eye and prevent me from going?" At this point the tears were freely streaming from my eyes, and I silently cursed them – stupid tears. Why did evolution even put this in our capacities as humans? Oh, shut it – Numberita's already thought of the whole "to rid the eye of damaging materials" argument. I'm traumatized – my brother's been kidnapped. Sod off.

Al hesitated before slowly bringing my wand down.

"I'm coming with you. We still have-" here he gently grabbed my wrist and swiftly turned it so that he saw my watch "-a minute and twenty-one seconds until the plan is supposed to occur. We stick to the plan, Adela. No running off by yourself, you understand?"

I hesitated; what if Greyback only wanted me to come? Would he punish Seth if I showed up with Al? Al seemed to sense my thoughts, for he lightly grasped the sides of my head and bent down, his eyes a scant four centimeters from mine.

"We do this _together_, Adela. Besides – Seth is my best friend. You're not the only one this affects." A soothing wave of fresh mint and snow washed over my face as his breath ghosted against my lips. I smiled weakly, took a deep, shuddering breath, and set my face in the firm expression I called "Adela's Beater Face."

"Okay," I breathed before reaching up abruptly to snatch my wand from Al's fingers. He smirked before leaning in to press a quick kiss to my lips.

"Right, let's go," he said. I turned to ask Scorpius to make sure the others were all set for the plan, but the blonde Malfoy had already left.

Looking back at Al's pale, but determined face, I squared my shoulders and adjusted my grip on the wand.

Look out, Greyback. One extremely angry Beater is thirsting for revenge.

xxxxxxxxxx

Silence.

The whole forest seemed to be holding its breath, each tall and foreboding tree stoically guarding the path we walked on. The only light came from the twin spheres of ice-blue light shining from the tips of our wands, the only sound coming from the occasional bump of the stick-stuffed sack against the front of my leg as it dangled behind Al's back.

Well, the sticks and my heart – I was sure even the Bulgarians could hear that. It felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my throat, judging by the rate at which it was beating. My fingers were slick with sweat, and I had to readjust my grip every 78 seconds to prevent my wand from falling to the forest floor, on which it would surely be lost forever in the inky darkness of the night.

"Where's the meeting place?" I whispered hoarsely, the words grating against my throat painfully. I watched Al's head as he moved in front of me, dodging the occasionally branch as it snaked past me.

"Should be ten meters to the north-west," he replied back, his words just as hushed. Although I knew Al couldn't see me in this darkness, I still nodded tightly, biting my lip in nervous anticipation.

I had a simple plan, really. 1) Find Greyback. 2) Make sure Seth is safe. 3) Send Seth to safety. 4) Kick Greyback's arse. 5) Kick the goblins' arses. 6) Kick Agrican's arse.

With my wand and trusty ol' Bessie (which I had strapped to my back), I was sure to be done in time for a late night snack of pumpkin juice and brownies.

Well, at least that was what I told myself. I wouldn't let Numberita even consider the alternative.

A short seven seconds later, we'd reached the designated meeting place – a hollow quite close to the place where we had gathered the Honking Daffodils so many weeks before. The night was eerily absent of the daffodils' obnoxious noises; odd how I would have loved to hear those sounds now. It was _too_ quiet.

Where was Greyback? Al set the sack of sticks against the appointed tree, a rather dark looking oak which sported gnarled branches and an angry black gash slicing through the first few exterior inches of its hardened bark.

"Greyback! We've brought the wands!" Al shouted, his words ringing eerily across the clearing.

No answer.

Feeling thoroughly frightened, I slowly reached behind me and smoothly drew ol' Bessie out from the holster Nico had designed for it (the boy, albeit being very annoying, was a Ravenclaw and truly gifted with all things mechanical). With ol' Bessie in my left hand and my wand in my right, I felt a bit better, although nervousness still threatened to crush my heart with its ice-tipped claws.

"_Greyback!_ You _coward_! Get your bloody arse out here!" I shouted angrily. We had no time to wait – what if Seth was wounded? He was already in poor condition – I shuddered to think what other horrors Greyback and the goblins had inflicted on him.

Nothing.

I exchanged a wary look with Al; nodding to each other, we both drew closer to each other so that our backs almost brushed. Holding our respective weapons out, I tried one more time to draw Greyback's attention – "_GREYBACK. WE HAVE YOUR WANDS. STOP HIDING BEHIND THE GOBLINS AND GET YOUR COWARDLY FURRY ARSE HERE NOW_!"

-And with a roar, he appeared, a fully-grown, raging mass of pure muscle and teeth.

I slammed into the ground, just barely managing to avoid getting nicked by his razor-sharp claws. When I looked up from my perilous placement between two broad tree roots, my heart froze – he was in his wolf form. But how? I quickly glanced upwards, catching a brief glimpse of a crescent moon before it was devoured by a hulking mass of gray clouds.

No time for Numberita to think – he was attacking again. I hurled myself to the right, whipping my wand arm forward and shouting, "_Bombarda!_"

The trees near Greyback exploded, sending jagged shards of splintered wood speeding through the air. Although the spell was a bit crude, it managed to do its job – Greyback slammed into the ground, a high, keening whine piercing the air as he clawed at the ravaged ground in his haste to rise again. I watched with horror as he leaped to his feet, shook his body so that his fur rippled, red-hot blood flinging off his body to drip on the ground below.

He slowly turned to face me, darkened lips pulling back to reveal those bloodstained teeth that haunted my nightmares.

"_Little one_." That horrid, grating noise again. I froze, my eyes widening as I met his. His eyes gleamed fervently, his muscles bunched, and he launched off the ground with a flash of claws with a spray of dirt and splintered wood.

"_Aresto Momentum!_" Greyback's lunge slowed, his body struggling in midair as his descent slowed down considerably. Al's spell snapped me out of my brief paralysis, and I shook my head briskly before whipping my wand once more in a circular motion, shouting, "_Confringo!_"

A whip of blazing white-red flames sprang from my wand and coiled around Greyback's haunches as I sprang out of his way. Al's spell having ended, Greyback howled, slamming to the ground as the flames licked up his sides.

Sweat dripped down from my face as I panted, each breath harsh and unforgiving. No time to rest – Greyback was approaching once more. I watched in horror as the flames died out, leaving Greyback looking a bit singed but still in relatively good condition.

"_Diffindo!_" This time it was Al who cast the spell, creating a tear in Greyback's skin. He _roared_, leaping forward once more to slam a bloodstained paw against Al's form. Al flew to the side, slamming with a sickening crunch against a still-smoking tree and sliding down to the ground.

_NO!_

"_AL!_" I screamed, his name ripping from my throat. No. No. No. First Seth, now Al – _no_. I would _not _accept this. Switching ol' Bessie to my right hand and gripping my wand tightly with my left, I breathed in deeply, ignoring the pain that immediately punched my insides as the movement strained against the bruises lining my skin. For Seth, for Al – I would do this. I would _win_.

"_BATTLE CRY!_" I roared, flinging myself forward and slamming the wooden bat against Greyback's surprised form. I heard a satisfying _crack_ as it met its mark before splintering in half, leaving me with a forlorn remnant of the loyal bat that had carried me through so many matches.

I had no time to mourn – Greyback shrieked in fury; a sizeable shard had imbedded itself in his left eye. Keeping closely to his left – and blind – side, I watched him warily, flinging the now-useless ol' Bessie to the side with a silent apology.

"_I can still smell you_," he snarled before twisting, a paw full of razor sharp claws slashing the air just millimeters away from my left side. Only my quick reflexes saved me from disembowelment; I slammed into the ground with a soft cry, a shard of wood digging into the soft skin of my left palm as I scrambled back to my feet.

Where were Scorp and the rest of our reinforcements? No time to think – I flung myself to the left just in time to avoid the snapping of his jaws. A glob of warm saliva landed on my arm and sank into the cuts the tree remnants from before had created – I hissed before bringing my wand upwards and back down in one smooth motion, screaming, "_Glacius Duo!_"

Immediately thick shards of white-blue ice grew from the ground, encasing Greyback's paws and legs in an opaque layer of ice. He froze, struggling vehemently to break free of the now-several layers thick casing of ice steadily creeping up his body. I breathed heavily, still clutching at my various wounds – I had to heal them soon before I ran out of magic or I could be in severe danger from blood loss. I didn't have enough magic or stamina left for the more powerful version of the spell, _Glacius Tria_, but hopefully this would be enough to-

I watched with dismay as jagged cracks appeared in the ice, ducking just in time to avoid the hundreds of splintered ice that pierced the air as Greyback broke free with an enraged roar. How was he so strong?

Blast it – I half-ran, half-stumbled over to Al, casting a quick shield charm over his form after determining that he was still breathing.

Although the charm would cost valuable energy and concentration to uphold, it was worth it – I was _not _going to accept another death. I wouldn't, I _couldn't_.

A heavy form slammed into my side, soon accompanied by a jagged shard of fire to my left side. Red-hot pain laced up my leg to gather at my hip. I shrieked, clutching at my side and wrenching out the slippery knife that had been imbedded in my side.

"_Where is Seth?_" I bit out between laboured breaths. Greyback laughed, the sound guttural and grating to my ears. Although his side was bleeding and his ear was practically torn off, the werewolf still seemed just as strong as he had been at the start of the fight.

"_Little one, why ask when you will be joining him shortly?_" he rasped. What? Numberita was paralyzed with pain – I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't – my eyes slowly trailed down to the knife I clutched in my hand, just in time to see the –

Silver medallion that slowly fell down from the tip of hilt to rest against my hand. _No! _I couldn't leave Al and the others!

It flashed blue, the light searingly bright against my sensitive eyes –

A pull to my gut, wrenching me forward, backward, sideways, up, down…

"_NO!_" the scream was torn from my throat as I was thrashed about mercilessly by some unknown source. I tried to wrench my hand from the now burningly hot medallion, but it was no use –

My body twisted, contorted to impossible shapes –

Then nothing.

xxxxxxxxxx

And suddenly I was stumbling, crashing to my knees on jagged earth that pierced my skin easily, painting scarlet slashes onto bruised flesh.

I struggled to my feet on shaking legs, lifting my wand with trembling fingers and glancing warily around – thank Merlin I had managed to keep hold of my wand.

I was in some sort of cemetery; deep, murky fog filtered in and out, obscuring all details so that I could only make out vague forms of protruding tombstones and statues. I shivered, the air slimy and cold to my bare arms. Where was I? I felt faint, not nearly healthy enough for Numberita to run some quick calculations and draw up the images of maps I'd previously memorized –

Well, location didn't matter right now. All that mattered was finding Seth and getting the hell out of here as soon as I could.

I took a tentative step forward, my shoe crushing something with a brittle _snap_. Looking down, I gulped loudly when I realized what it was – a dried out rodent's skeleton, now smashed to a delicate white powder that contrasted starkly with the dark, crumbling ground surrounding each pale tombstone dotting the cemetery.

A moan – I froze, my heart accelerating until it beat at a rate at least double its original speed. The sound came from directly behind me – I turned, my heel scraping softly against the dry dirt, my wand held high in front of me.

A flash of dirtied gold and pale, bruised skin – Seth!

I ran forward blindly, my eyes glued to the crumbled form resting at the foot of a large marble statue of a wolf frozen mid-howl. He was bent into a fetal position, his bare feet dirtied with layers of caked-on dirt and his trousers torn and bloodied. His arm lay limp at his side, his fingers clenched in a fist.

Running my hands quickly over his body and bending down to rest my ear against his cold chest, I almost cried when I heard the reassuring – and faint – beat of his heart.

"Hang in there, Seth," I murmured, quickly running my wand across the length of his body and casting a quick warming spell. It was freezing in the cemetery – the murky fog seeped through my clothes in an instant, chilling me to the bone with wisps of ice-cold vapor. My hair rapidly grew damp, tendrils of dark brown hair sticking to my cheeks as I shakily cast a few more healing spells on the major gashes dotting his torso and legs.

He suffered from major blood loss and would need some blood replenishing potions in the next hour or risk permanent damage. From the looks of his bent arm, his ulna was fractured and the gash on his head made me suspect that he had a major concussion. Sheer rage rose in me, red-hot anger bubbling up from my chest to grip Numberita. I was vaguely aware of the bitter, coppery taste of blood as I bit down hard on my lips to prevent an angry growl from emitting from my mouth; Seth didn't deserve this. No one did – but definitely not my wonderful git of a brother.

My energy was rapidly draining; if I wasn't more careful, I would black out soon from the sheer physical exhaustion and magic depletion.

"How sweet," came an amused observation from behind me. The voice was a tad high pitched, the words carrying a slight lilt to them. I whirled quickly, adopting a protective stance in front of Seth's body.

My eyes traveled downwards before reaching the target of my anger.

"Goblin," I hissed. The goblin shrugged, delicately twirling a pale wand between gnarled and stubby fingers. His disconcertingly dark eyes blinked slowly, his wrinkled face impassive as his gaze flicked from Seth's unconscious body to my own.

After a tense thirty-two seconds, his thin lips pulled back in a grotesque imitation of a smile.

Spreading his arms wide, he said mockingly, "Please. Call me Ragnuk."

Numberita whirled – Ragnuk. Creator of Godric's sword. Held a grudge against Godric, accused him of stealing his sword. Obviously this wasn't the same goblin, but he certainly shared his namesake's anger.

"What did you do to him?" I snarled.

He shook his head, tsking between his two rubbery lips.

"Adela, Adela. I had hoped you would have gathered that by now," he said sadly. I took a deep breath, pushing down the overwhelming urge to tackle him to the ground and –

Later, Adela. Later. Shaking my head clear of my blinding anger, I recited dully the answer he was seeking.

"Blow to the head. A _sectumsempra_ to the torso, by the look of it. Yet the spell was stopped before he died – probably as a warning to me. But why? We brought you the wands!"

The goblin snarled, the wand emitting scarlet sparks that ricocheted against the nearby headstones.

"You brought a sack of common _sticks_! Foolish wizard – you really thought you could fool _me?_" I paused; shoot – how did he know?

A soft moan from behind me paused Numberita from her rapid deductions – no. Now was not the time for Ravenclaw hesitation.

It was time for revenge.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" I shouted, slashing my wand forward. A wave of white light spurted from the tip and sped towards the goblin, who waved it away with a casual flick of his wand.

My heart sank; I didn't have enough energy left for a silent spell, and the goblin was obviously able to deflect spoken spells.

"Pathetic," he snarled.

And suddenly it wasn't Ragnuk speaking – it was my father, towering over my small form. I was a child again, cowering and helpless against his biting words. Worthless. Disgrace. A stain on the Lancaster name.

I trembled violently, my hand shaking noticeably as I struggled to keep hold of my wand. I was distantly aware of the goblin's pitying laughs as my legs quivered.

I wasn't as cunning and sly as a Slytherin. I wasn't as brave as a Gryffindor. Hell, I wasn't even as kind or as deserving as a Hufflepuff.

I –

-A sudden crashing noise sounded to the left. I whirled around, shaking my head briskly to push my self-pitying thoughts from Numberita. Now was not the time for these doubting thoughts – not when I had so many lives depending on my actions. I was better than that. I couldn't let Father have such power over me any longer.

I might not be a Slytherin, but I was a darn good Ravenclaw.

Not bothering to examine the source of the noise, I flung myself forward, my arm pulling back to land a solid punch on Ragnuk's hooked nose.

The goblin obviously wasn't expecting a physical attack; my punch landed with a satisfying _crunch_, the delicate cartilage crumpling under the blow and warm blood spurting underneath my bruised fingers.

Not pausing for breath, I jabbed my wand forward and muttered, "_Bombarda!_"

And the world burst into flame.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! As always, please review! I love reading them and will return all reviews with a teaser for the next chapter! :) **

_**Note: **_**I will be going on a cross-country road trip for three weeks and unfortunately will NOT have internet access. I will continue to write while on the trip, but I won't be able to publish the chapters :( Sorry and thanks for your patience!**

**I'll try and write the next chapter as soon as I can to publish it before I leave :)**


	36. The Scorpius Alto-Cumulus

**The Scorpius Alto-Cumulus**

Pain, jagged and sharp, slammed into my body. I was burning, burning, burning in a flame that never ended – I was vaguely aware of a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream that pierced the formerly quiet cemetery. Only the ragged heat in my throat let Numberita know that the scream was, in fact, emitting from my own mouth.

The force of the blast slammed me backwards a good eight yards, my right arm – my wand arm – pinned against the splintered remains of a headstone and contorting into an unnatural angle with a sickening _snap_ as the rest of my body crashed on top of it. The broken stone bit greedily into my skin, crimson drops welling easily to the surface as I wrenched my leg from the marble's grasp. Numberita was spinning, the cemetery blurring in and out of focus as I struggled to retain consciousness.

Blearily lifting my head and wincing when the movement aggravated the gash lining my right cheekbone to chin, I struggled to make out Ragnuk's form through the whirling mess of fog and smoke that drowned the air.

Please let him be gone – please let this have been worth it. Coughing hoarsely as the soaring dust irritated my throat, I glanced quickly over at Seth. Luckily, the wolf statue had shielded him from most of the explosion, although I could make out a thin layer of debris covering his lower legs. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured me, and I shakily propped myself up with my left arm, using the jagged remains of the nearest tombstone to support my weight.

Where was my wand?

Quickly scanning the cemetery, I groaned when I saw that it had landed a distance at least nine meters away from me. I could barely stand, let alone walk.

Suddenly a flash of ice blue light emitted from the right, and I sank down to the ground hurriedly, the stone biting into my flesh once more. But I didn't need to – the light was aimed at the destroyed remnants of a marble statue about five meters to my left. A small, shadowed form sprang away from the statue right before the light hit it, scattering the stone once more. Lifting my good arm to shield my face from the agitated dust and shrapnel, I craned my neck to see the caster of the spell.

The fog shielded the face of the caster, but I'd recognize those lean legs and determined stance anywhere – Al. Relief washed over me, shielding me from the agonizing pain I had felt before. Al was here – I was no longer alone. How did he get here? How did he escape Greyback?

My thoughts were soon interrupted by the sounds of several pairs of feet pounding and sliding against the crushed stone, and I could just make out through gaps in the fog the forms of four sprinting boys appeared, each one tightly clutching a wand and sending twin spurts of red light forward.

Wait. Ragnuk! Remembering the small form that had escaped from the statue, I half-ran, half-hopped to my wand, tripping over the shattered stone and branches littering the crumbling dirt ground as I moved. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ragnuk and Al exchanging rapid volleys of blindingly bright spells.

A flash of silver – Scorpius was slashing his arm forward, distracting Ragnuk with a quick _Flipendo _before he could attack Al from behind. And there was Wood, his wand blasted from his hands as he tumbled over a hidden tombstone. Hugo was next, sending rapid _Stupefy _spells at Ragnuk. Ragnuk deflected each easily, his wand a blur as he spun from target to target. How was he deflecting five people so easily? It was impossible!

Pale gold darted in – Lysander, tears streaming down a grimly set face as he hurled a swift punch to Ragnuk's gut. Lysander, slamming into the ground in a cloud of red as Ragnuk shot a _Sectumsempra_ in retaliation.

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away and swallow the cries threatening to choke me from the inside. No. I was of no use if I just blubbered by the side – I needed to get my wand.

Almost…there…

Got it! Clutching my wand's battered surface with triumphant fingers, I allowed myself a brief second of self-congratulation before turning and assessing the situation rapidly.

Ragnuk sent a red stream of light that exploded in the place where Al had been just two seconds before – _Sectumsempra_. I bristled at the dark spell, but Numberita couldn't help but wonder at Ragnuk's power – sure, goblins were exceptionally gifted even without wands, but how was he so untouched? Examining his small body, I noticed no visible cuts or scrapes. He must have cast a quick shield charm – but how? _Bombarda_ was a very powerful spell, especially at such a close range.

What kind of magic did he have?

A lull in the battle – Ragnuk was twirling his wand, moving it in rapid successive movements that blurred together in the darkened gloom of the cemetery. "_Imperio_," he hissed. Ice froze in my veins, stifling my heart as pure panic gripped me – who had a medallion? Hadn't we checked everyone for medallions? I was frozen, paralyzed, helpless, watching with bated breath as the five boys froze. Who would be controlled?

Seconds trickled by as slow as years, tension cutting the air—

-And suddenly Al was on his knees, his arm shaking violently as his wand moved upwards to point directly at Scorpius. Scorpius, his best mate since first year. Scorpius, who froze, his wand held limply at his side. Scorpius, the boy with the silver eyes and aristocratic nose he was so proud of.

_No_ – the cry caught in my throat, and I lurched forward, Numberita scrambled for a suitable spell - something, _anything _to stop a tragedy from happening—

Ragnuk smiling gleefully, Scorpius frozen, Hugo and Lysander lying on the grounds, Wood picking up a Quaffle-shaped rock and hurling it at Ragnuk, who redirected it with a casual flick of his wand—

Al clutching at his head, roaring, "_NO!_" and flinging his wand to the side. Ragnuk, frowning in displeasure and bringing up his wand to point directly at Al-

An arrow of bristling golden light stabbed Al's arm and he clutched at it with a muffled cry – I sprang forward, rage staining the world red.

In the corner of my mind, Numberita whispered that I risked permanent damage if I cast another spell – at this point, I was running on emergency supplies. Any magic I cast now would be coming directly from my life force; in other words, each spell would shorten my lifespan forever.

I pushed the thoughts away; none of that mattered.

"_Confringo!_" I bellowed, whipping my wand forward with my left hand. The movements were a bit clumsy, but they did the job; a bullet of concentrated light sped at Ragnuk. Seeing the attack, Ragnuk moved to dodge to the left – I scowled, furrowing my brow as I concentrated, my surroundings melting away until I saw was Ragnuk. I directed the spell to follow his movements –

And Ragnuk fell, his small body crumpling to the ground as the spell exploded against his bare skin. Al was there in a second, casting a quick _Incarcerous_ and summoning ropes that gleamed like quicksilver in the moonlight and encircled the goblin's body snugly. He bent down, his movements a tad jerky as he avoided straining his wounds, and plucked the wand from Ragnuk's unconscious form.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, white-black dots popping in and out of existence towards the corners of my eyes. I swayed slightly on my feet, feeling faint at the major blood loss I suffered.

"_Adela!_"

I smiled blearily at the boy with the emerald eyes and tousled black hair who had captured my heart before sinking to my feet, my wand dropping from my limp hand and clattering across the blood-stained ground before coming to a stop a few inches from Seth's unconscious body.

Peace…

Then darkness.

xxxxxxxxxx

"-_Goblins?_"

The voice was high and had a no-nonsense quality to it.

"Yes, they've managed to recruit the werewolves as well."

This voice was deeper, frustrated undertones running through the words. Why did it sound so familiar?

"Heavens, the poor dears – so young, too! Who is this child?"

"Adela Lancaster. Apparently this young girl was quite the leader during all this."

Something soft and cool brushed my arm gently. I shifted slightly but didn't open my eyes, still blearily drifting along the stream of unconsciousness. Drifting, sliding, sleepily swimming through blurred backgrounds.

"A Lancaster?"

"Apparently this generation is much better than their parents. Rose tells me Adela was an invaluable part of this whole endeavor."

A pause in the conversation – then, a hushed, "How is she?"

"According to Malfoy, a fractured right arm, several severe burns lining her face and torso, a sprained ankle, and a cut on her face that took thirty-two stitches to seal up."

"Merlin!"

More silence.

"—Any leads?"

A frustrated sigh, then muffled shuffling noises as someone began pacing.

"No. One second he's there, the next he's gone – how is that even possible? The wand's disappeared as well."

"I-"

A door opened, the wood whispering softly against the linoleum followed quickly by light _clicking_ noises as someone in heels entered the room.

"Hermione!"

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

"Dear, how many times do I have to tell you? Please, call me Molly – you _are _a member of the family now."

"Yes, Molly. Harry – Draco wants to speak to you. There's been a - a complication with Al."

No reply – just hurried movements as the man yanked the door open and exited the room swiftly.

Al. Somehow, that name snagged on Numberita. Why was it so familia-

_Al._

I struggled to open my eyes, but it felt as if fifty hippogriffs were sitting stubbornly on my eyelids. Al. Al. Al. Slowly I felt myself being pulled from the safety of the murky unconscious and into the harsh reality of bright hospital lights and scratchy sheets, the world where innocent kids were killed and power-hungry goblins willingly pitted friends against friends and sadistic werewolves thirsted for blood and revenge.

Al. The name brought forth a wave of memories, and I fidgeted as I struggled to pull myself together and wake up. I spotted a glimmer of blue and green and the scent of fresh pine as a memory from a few weeks ago overcame Numberita-

_"You git!"_

_ Al laughed, bending down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head before quickly scampering out of my reach again. I scowled, stamping my foot childishly as I reached for ol' Bessie, which Al held high above me._

_ "Prat."_

_ "Unoriginal. Pathetic, really," he said snidely. I scowled, turning away to stare at the Black Lake. Al and I had stolen outside to wander the grounds during an extended free period to relax and spend time together, but the git had decided to steal ol' Bessie. Which, of course, was a sure sign of war._

_ I began to make sobbing noises loudly, burying my face in cupped hands as my shoulders shook dramatically._

_ "I know you're faking," he said, but his words were a bit hesitant – ha! I hid my triumph behind my hands, instead resuming my cries at a louder volume._

_ "Crap, I'm rubbish with crying girls – er, Lancaster, I'm sorry," he said tentatively before prodding my back with ol' Bessie. Hehehe. I whirled quickly and tackled him, slamming the both of us into the cold grass of the hill we stood on. Neatly plucking ol' Bessie from his fingers, I smiled triumphantly from my perch on his torso._

_ "Got you," I crowed. He scowled from below me, his green eyes narrowing dangerously. He lifted an arm to trail liquid heat down my arm, his finger pausing at my wrist. I swallowed, unable to tear my eyes away from his._

_ "Did you?" he murmured softly, smiling wickedly up at me from below lowered lashes. Crud. I hated when the git did this – my cheeks flamed, and I struggled to slow my racing heart._

_ To bolster my will power, I gripped ol' Bessie tightly and said through gritted teeth, "Yes. I did."_

_ "Mmm…" he said distractedly, moving his finger to trail up my arm again. I shivered before muttering, "Sod it," and bending down to capture his lips with mine. _

_ Sliding my fingers through his wonderfully soft hair, I sighed softly when his arms reached up to encircle my waist, bringing me closer to his body. _

_ "Prat," I murmured against his lips._

_ "I know," he whispered before bending his neck to kiss my collarbone. My whole body was tingling, my nerves pulsing with fierce electricity as I struggled to keep my wits about me. _

_ Numberita was silent, shocked into a dazed stupor._

_ Crud. There went my only defense._

_ After a moment we pulled apart, I shakily slid off of my perch on Al's torso to lie down on the grass next to him. Intertwining our fingers, I sighed contentedly and gazed up at the lazily moving clouds high above. _

_ "Oi! That alto-cumulus cloud looks just like Scorpius!" I bellowed after sixteen seconds, pointing excitedly at a particularly nice cloud drifting about 6,500 meters above us. _

_ "You are such a Ravenclaw."_

_ I shrugged, still raptly watching the cloud that had Scorpius's exact nose and haughty air down to perfection. _

_ I shivered slightly, suddenly aware of the cool temperature – it was already almost the middle of December. The months had flown by in a blur of bacon, Al, and Sir Archibald's antics; it was odd to think that it was almost time for winter break._

_ "It's almost Christmas," I said. _

_ A noncommittal grunt from the male department. Merlin, it sure was lucky that I'd picked such an intelligent conversationalist._

_ Sarcasm was fun._

_ "What do you want?" I tried._

_ "You."_

_ I paused, stubbornly pushing down an amused smile. No, Adela. That wasn't funny. That was just sad. Do not smile do not smile do not smile –_

_ I smiled._

_ "You did not just make the corniest line ever."_

_ And suddenly Al was bearing down on me, his lips pulling back to reveal a self-satisfied smirk as he blocked my view of the sun._

_ "And if I did?" he murmured, his eyes lazily flicking down to watch my lips. I flushed before swallowing thickly and saying, "Then I think I'll need to whack you with ol' Bessie or something."_

_ "You can try," he said cheerfully before snogging me once more. I closed my eyes, smiling softly as the trees rustled around us and the winter sun shone brightly._

_ Life was good._

My eyes flew open, meeting two pairs of startled brown eyes. The woman on the left was a bit plump but had a cheerful, motherly air to her, her curly red hair fading to white near the roots. The woman on the left had bushy brown hair that was tamed in a sensible ponytail, her bare face still managing to be beautiful.

My heart leaped to my throat – Molly Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley were two – no, one and two thirds – meters away from me.

"How are you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked kindly, hurrying forward to grip my left hand tightly. I paused to consider the question; Numberita registered a deep soreness in my abdomen and legs as well as a sensitive stiffness to my arm and face. Deep burn marks grated painfully against the thin shift the hospital had put me in, but it could have been much worse.

"I'm fine," I answered honestly.

Mrs. Granger-Weasley approached the right side of my bed and opened her mouth to say something – what, I didn't know, because at that moment the door burst open, letting in the frazzled-looking forms of Rose Weasley, two Ministry officials, a blonde woman sporting a Quick Quotes quill and a cameraman, and the Minister for Magic himself – Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Ms. Lancaster, is it true that a goblin managed to break through Hogwart's wards?" the blonde woman asserted, pushing past everyone else to stand uncomfortably close to my face. The cameraman snapped a quick picture, the lights blindingly painful to my sensitive eyes. I winced, lifting my left hand to try and shield my arms. Hissing softly between my teeth when the movement pulled at the stitches lining my cheek, I said, "Yes."

The Quick Quotes quill worked furiously, writing out a paragraph much longer than my simple "yes."

"Did a _werewolf-_" here her nose crinkled in disgust "-really infiltrate Hogwarts? Why didn't you ask for help from the Ministry? Why selfishly try and tackle this by yourself? Wanted some glory, mm?"

I scowled, ignoring my pain and pushing myself up so that I was at least closer to her eye level.

"_Listen_, woman – you've said so many erroneous things I hardly know where to begin. First – your disgust when you said 'werewolf'? _Not_ okay. This is the very reason they're angry with us – why do we treat them as inferiors for something they can't help? There are potion s now that allow werewolves to keep their wits about them during a full moon, so there's no reason to treat them with fear and disgust.

"Sure, the werewolf behind this is a right git, and I hope you lot-" here I gestured toward Shacklebolt and his flank of Ministry officials pointedly "-put his arse in Azkaban, but that doesn't mean _all_ werewolves are bad. Voldemort was a wizard – does that mean all wizards should be feared as well? Second – we didn't ask for help because the goblin – Ragnuk – had medallions infused with the Imperius curse distributed among the student body.

"With just a flick of a wand he could control a student and direct that student to either kill himself or attack his friends and peers. We couldn't risk him setting these medallions off by sending for Ministry officials. Third – who are you to judge? You, with your Quick Quotes quill committing falsehoods and ruining the lives of who knows how many people and your blonde hair and your incessant thirst for the latest gossip – _you don't know what it's like to see people die before your eyes_," I hissed.

She blinked, looking stricken, before collecting herself and glaring at me spitefully.

"You'll regret this," she hissed quietly before straightening and snapping her fingers, the Quick Quotes quill and parchment disappearing into her colourful bag, and exiting the room with a swish of her violet skirt.

Uncomfortable silence followed her exit – I cleared my throat awkwardly, flushing a bit at the way the people in the room were staring at me unabashedly.

It was Mrs. Granger-Weasley who recovered first; "Merlin, I like you. After you graduate and have some training, you're more than welcome to a spot at my firm."

What? I couldn't help but grin widely at her words, ignoring the discomfort the motion caused as my stitches stretched. The Granger-Weasley firm was one of the most reputable and renowned law firms in the Wizarding World and had made a name for itself in defending those who wouldn't normally be able to do so, taking more pro bono cases than any other firm in existence. I'd never really thought about my career before, but honestly? After all the events that had happened, I wanted a way to prevent such bitterness from ever arising to such a degree again. I didn't want to become an Auror – no, I liked living my life without the constant threat of death, thank you very much. If I became a lawyer, I would be able to make a difference –

"I would like that," I breathed. Mrs. Granger-Weasley smiled at me before winking and shooing everyone out of the room until only Rose remained.

I sobered, meeting Rose's warm brown eyes solemnly.

"What happened?" I asked. She sighed before sitting down on the edge of my cot.

Wringing her hands in her lap, she said, "Well, Lily, Hugo, Dominique, Fred, and I ran to our places as planned. At around forty minutes past midnight, roughly a fifth of the students we watched produced medallions and began attacking each other. Adela…there was so much blood. We eventually managed to subdue them; Lily's amazing at stunning people, so she was invaluable to the process, but it took a good three hours to collect all the medallions. The Ministry's taken the medallions to study, but Adela – Al's in bad shape."

I froze; Al. How could I have forgotten?

Rose kept speaking, not noticing my horror.

"Apparently a shield charm exploded over him when Greyback attacked it; the shards of the foreign spell as well as Greyback's attack…his wounds are festering. Al…Al hasn't woken up yet."

A shield charm – _my_ shield charm. Horror mingled with guilt as I slumped against the headboard, my eyes wide in dismay.

What had I done?

**Author Note: What? Two updates in two days? ;D Yup, I thought because I was leaving later today I would post another chapter to tide you guys over c; Guys, **_**now**_** there are only two-three chapters left (ended up taking more chapters than I thought haha). Thanks for reading! As always, please please please review! **** I return all reviews with a teaser of the next chapter c;**

**The next chapter will be in Albus's POV to explain more about the events that Adela didn't know about (i.e. how he escaped from Greyback, what happened to Scorpius, etc)**


	37. Albus Severus Potter

**Albus Severus Potter**

**Albus POV**

"_Diffindo!_"

He narrowed his eyes, his breaths rasping painfully against his throat as the spell sped with deadly accuracy towards Greyback's shadowed form. Come on…come on…there. The spell spun to the side, slicing across Greyback's dark fur before dissipating into hundreds of blinding red sparks. Greyback roared, bunching his muscles and leaping into the air, his claws gleaming red, his eyes gleaming red, his teeth gleaming red…

He had just enough time to widen his eyes in horror before the impact came. Red-hot pain stabbed into his left side, gripping his chest with burning fingers and twisting his insides into an agonizing knot. He was soaring, flying through the air, his neck snapping backwards as he collided into something solid…a tree, maybe – he wasn't entirely sure of anything anymore. Al blinked groggily, struggling to keep his wits about him.

He couldn't lose consciousness now – he had to defeat this blasted werewolf if it was the last thing he did. He struggled to push himself upwards from his slump on the bloodstained forest ground, his muscles straining as he pushed himself up and braced his back against the tree trunk. Wincing when he realized the tree's bark was slick with blood, Al forced himself to take note of the battle scene in front of him.

What was happening? He couldn't trust his senses anymore – panic joined pain and gripped his heart painfully as he tried to rub at his eyes but found he couldn't move his arms. The clearing was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of a spell and the gleam of the moon against Greyback's teeth and claws. A distant yell – Adela. A flash of dark hair followed shortly by a _roar_ – cursing his sluggishness, Al tried again to reach for his wand. The bloody stick had rolled a few inches away from him – if he could just reach it…

Nothing. He was useless, helpless. He couldn't help Adela. He couldn't help Lorcan. He couldn't do _anything_ – he couldn't even yell. He was still the youngest son of Harry Potter, never able to live up to his father's greatness. He couldn't even beat a bloody _werewolf_, for Merlin's sake. His father had defeated Voldemort, saved the whole bloody Wizarding World. What could he do when forced to compete with that?

Al was vaguely aware of the temperature in the clearing dropping considerable – forcing himself to face the battle once more and banishing from his minds the thoughts that were as paralyzing as his wounds, he spotted the last glimpses of ice shattering from Greyback's fur –

_No._

Adela was running, tripping over branches in her haste to flee. She wouldn't make it – Al's heart sunk, panic gripping his chest once more. _Damn it_ – why couldn't he move? No. No. Nononononono. Greyback was snarling, gripping a knife that seemed to have come from nowhere, the deadly blade dwarfed by his huge paw. The blade screamed through the air, slicing through and—

Landed straight in her side, scarlet blooming and streaming in deadly rivulets down her muddied clothes. _NO_. He struggled, distantly becoming aware of the familiar orange glow of a shield charm above him. Had she wasted precious time in trying to protect him? Could she have avoided the knife if she hadn't been so busy casting this spell? _Why had she used up so much magic in this shield_? He cursed her, he cursed Greyback, he cursed himself – wrenching himself upwards and gritting his teeth against the pain, he grabbed his wand with trembling fingers and tried to cast a simple exploding spell –

Nothing.

Pushing down his fear, he slammed a bloodied fist against the shield. The orange rippled but stayed intact. He snarled, backing up against the tree trunk before slamming forward, his body crumpling against the unforgiving magic. A flash of blue light – he looked away, shielding his squinting eyes…when he looked back, she was gone.

A grating yell tore itself from his throat. He _screamed_, wrenching his arm back and slamming it into the shield with a deafening _crack_ – the orange splintered, dissolving as it fell in jagged shards to the debris-strewn floor – and he was free. Something wet dripped down from his face and arms, and when he glanced down he saw the last few flashes of light as the orange shards disappeared from their place deep within his flesh. He'd deal with that later; now was the time for revenge.

"_You bloody bastard_," he snarled, meeting Greyback's surprised eyes before raising his arm and whispering coldly, "_Bombarda Maxima._" A rush of sparks sped down his arm, collecting in his wand before unleashing themselves in a wave of rippling white light –

And the wolf flew backwards, his limbs crumpling as a force powerful enough to ravage a building hit him straight on. Al stumbled forward, the spell leaving him even more exhausted than he had been before. He blinked the white spots from his vision as he laboriously advanced towards the still mass of fur in front of him.

The mass twitched – his wand was up in an instant, weaving through the air as he conjured several silver ropes to wrap the wolf tightly and bind him to the cracked remains of the tree behind him.

He stared down at Greyback, his mind still numb from both pain and shock. He could just kill him now – Merlin knew the wolf had probably killed countless people before. A voice in his mind was whispering, telling him to just do it – revenge was all the sweeter knowing how the wolf had hurt Adela, the one person in his life who he could trust completely, the one person who had met him without even considering his last name, the one person who could made him want to yell in annoyance and argue and kiss and _live_.

He lifted a trembling arm, forced himself to still, and pointed the wand directly at the wolf's heart.

The voice cheered, whispering smoothly of shouts of his heroic acts, the way people would finally notice him for _his_ actions and not his father's, the way the Aurors might accept him -

Then Adela's voice, as loud and blunt as always pushed the cold voice away, berating him and telling him to just shut up and stop being a bloody prat. He lowered his wand slowly, a small smile curling his lips up for a second as he thought of the brown-haired girl.

"You're just lucky Adela would kill me if I killed you," he said coolly before turning to exit the clearing. He knew what Adela would advise him to do – she'd be yelling at him to get reinforcements and forget about his Slytherin ambition – so although all he wanted to do was go after her immediately, he would swallow his pride and see where the bloody hell Scorpius had gone.

Pausing only to retrieve a small object from underneath Greyback's left paw that was identical to the one that had transported Adela away, he was soon gone, the wolf's body far behind him.

He ran through the trees, angrily pushing past the branches that clawed at him and slowed him down – he didn't have _time_ to go running blindly around – he had to find Scorpius and get to Adela. What if she wa – no. He wouldn't let himself even think of that –

He ran with renewed determination, his feet pounding against the sticks lying haphazardly across the forest floor. His wand was slick with blood and sweat, and he gripped it tightly so as to prevent his dropping it.

Where was Malfoy? Cursing the blonde, he pushed past a gnarled oak, catching a glimpse of white-blonde hair streaked with a dark substance. He sprinted forward, his heart sinking when he saw Scorpius, Wood, Scamander, and Hugo were unconscious, their prone bodies piled carelessly in a small ditch. What were they doing? How had they been injured? Their attackers could still be here - he advanced cautiously, his wand held in front of him as he searched for enemies. The forest seemed to be holding its breath – not a single leaf rustled as Al stepped carefully over leaves stained with circles of scarlet.

He paused at the foot of the ditch, peering downwards at the boys below. They didn't look too injured – Wood had the beginnings of a nasty bruise trailing up his cheek and Scorpius's white shirt was soaked with blood, but they would live.

"_Rennervate_."

Scorpius was the first to wake, his pale eyelids fluttering before opening to reveal confused silver eyes.

"Wh-?"

"Get up. The goblin has Adela," Al said tightly, his foot tapping impatiently. Every second wasted was a second he could have helped Adela – God, he wished he'd just gone –

Scorpius was up in an instant, answering Al's unspoken question with a nonchalant shrug. "It's mostly the other bastard's blood, not mine," he said, his eyes narrowing and his lips twitching up into a cold smile.

"Brilliant."

The others were up by then, blinking in the darkness as they struggled to get their bearings.

"Some people jumped us – they must have knocked us out, but we still managed to take out one of them and severely injure the othe-" Wood began.

"Right, save it – Lancaster's in trouble, we have to go," he interrupted. Wood scowled but shut his mouth quickly when he realized that his beater was in trouble – he narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw captain before turning and producing a silver medallion carefully from his trouser pocket. He regarded the engraved surface silently for a moment before meeting the eyes of the four boys in front of him.

"I took this from Greyback. On three, we'll all touch this and be transported to wherever she is." Not waiting for an answer, he said, "One."

They huddled around him – five unlikely allies, two Ravenclaws, one Gryffindor, and two Slytherins.

"Two."

He was determined to beat the goblin to the ground. He would _pay_ for taking her – they all would. No one hurt her and got away with it.

"_Three_."

He pressed his hand against the cold metal.

A flash of blue, a pulling sensation to his gut, and –

They were off, spinning away into the unknown.

xxxxxxxxx

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell into the jagged edges of the stones littering the ground in front of him. They were the remains of a smashed tombstone – a cemetery, then. The others appeared with a soft _pop_ behind him, and he quickly motioned for them to be quiet. He crouched in the small ditch they'd landed in, peering outwards. Bright flashes of light appeared sporadically, piercing the deep fog obscuring the cemetery that shrouded everything with darkness.

A glimpse of dasrk brown hair and wide hazel eyes – _Adela. _She was on the ground, her hands moving about frantically in search for her wand. _Damnit_ – she was defenseless. He scanned the area around her quickly for an enemy – there. A small, hunched form advanced swiftly, holding a dark wand in front of him. Al swiftly took note of the form's pointed ears and short stature – a goblin. _The_ goblin? He narrowed his eyes, his fingers curling into tight fists.

He moved to jump out of the ditch but paused, remembering the four blokes behind him. Gritting his teeth at the delay, he turned swiftly and hissed, "Right, plan is to beat this bloke and not get killed. Got it? Good." Without waiting for a reply, he propelled himself forward, smoothly leaping over the shattered tombstone and sprinting forward, his wand held high in front of him.

A distant clatter from behind him, followed by a muffled grunt of pain – cursing his teammates, Al watched as the goblin pricked his ears before ducking behind a marble statue. Adela hadn't noticed the goblin's movement; she was too busy searching for her wand. He cursed under his breath as he saw the goblin crane his neck around the statue and aim carefully at her back. The bloody coward was going to hit her from behind!

He snarled, whipping his wand forward to cast a silent _Bombarda_. Ice blue light sped from the tip of his wand in the form of a single arrow dripping crackling power as it pierced the center of the statue.

_Slam_.

The statue exploded, propelling shards of marble across the cemetery with deadly speed. He ducked just in time to avoid getting beheaded before running forward after the goblin's form.

A spear of golden light – he dove to the ground, grunting when the impact jarred his wounds. Who gave this goblin a wand?

He was up the next second, jabbing his wand in three consecutive motions and sending a beam of emerald light at the goblin.

He narrowed his eyes, his chest heaving as he deflected the counterspell. Time splintered into short fragments as the battle raged on.

One.

He threw a _Defodio_, running forward as soon as the spell left his wand, his feet slipping over rocks slick with blood.

Two.

A stab of crimson light – Scorpius running forward, Malfoy and Potter working in tandem.

Three.

The goblin cast a _Deprimo_, slicing a gaping chasm into the ground where he had stood just seconds before. Al snarled, his jaw clenching as he pushed past fatigue and pain to cast another _Stupefy_.

Four.

How was this goblin sending such powerful magic? Did he never get tired? Questions flit through his head as he struggled to keep his focus. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, clouding his vision.

Five.

"_Diffindo!_"

The jinx exploded the stone fountain, forcing the goblin to cast a powerful shield charm over himself. Hugo's pale freckled face shone with determination – there was no brilliant older sister in this situation to outshine him. There was only the younger Weasley and his wand.

He met Hugo's eyes for a second before nodding his understanding, a sense of connection between two younger siblings.

And then he was off again, dodging a _Crucio _in one moment and sending an _Ebublio_ the next.

Six.

A tornado sprung from his wand, the result of a particularly powerful _Flipendo Tria._ He almost slumped into unconsciousness, the force of the spell draining his magic rapidly. The tornado sped forward, gathering speed as well as debris as it chased the goblin around before he managed to dispel it.

Seven.

Lysander sped forward, slamming a fist to the goblin's gut, his face shining as tears trailed down his pale face. The goblin howled, jabbing his wand forward and mouthing something indiscernible.

Eight.

Slow motion falling. Lysander crumpling to the ground, cuts blooming on his pale skin. Leaping forward, running, stumbling over rocks in haste to get to him in time.

Nine.

Stretching a hand to his face, millimeters away. Preparing to cast a healing spell –

"_Imperio._"

A daze, mellow and numbing. Where was he? What was he doing? Standing up, straightening, moving away from the blonde form beneath him.

Ten.

_Attack him_.

Who?

_The blonde one – Scorpius Malfoy._

Why?

_Attack him. Now._

Confusion. He looked at the blonde boy in question, his eyes narrowing as he struggled to_ think_, to break free of this dazed haze suffocating him with its mind-numbing fog.

_Attack him. Attack him. Attack him._

No, he didn't think he would. A distant memory of laughing in some dungeon somewhere surrounded by green appeared in his mind before quickly being chased away by the fog. He scowled in annoyance, screwing his eyes shut as the voice kept echoing throughout his mind.

What was that memory?

A distant trail…there! He snatched at it, pulling the memory forward stubbornly.

_"You're Potter."_

_ He blinked, looking up in surprise to meet silver eyes looking down at him. His gaze traveled from the eyes to the finely shaped nose to the carefully slicked back hair. A Malfoy, then. He stood up from his perch on the emerald couch in the very corner of the Slytherin Dungeon, stubbornly rising so they were at equal levels. He might have the disgrace of being the first Potter in Slytherin, but that didn't mean he would let this bloke look down on him._

_ "You're Malfoy," he returned steadily. They glared at each other for a few moments before the blonde boy grinned and said, "What's it like to be the big disappointment?"_

_ He bristled for a moment before smirking._

_ "What's it like to be scorned everywhere as the son of a Death Eater?"_

_ The boy snarled, wrenching forward to land a clumsy punch to his cheek. And they were off, rolling around on the cold ground as their classmates looked on with repulsed horror. _

_ Then they were laughing, him at the blonde's disarrayed hair and Malfoy at the rapidly appearing black eye on the right side of his face._

_ "Like Quidditch?" Malfoy finally asked after they'd caught their breaths._

_ "Like it? I love it! What team do you support?"_

_ "Puddlemere United, of course."_

The memory faded away, but it was enough – he had a name for the blonde now.

_Attack him_.

No. He would _not_.

And suddenly he was on his knees, clutching at his head and shaking violently as he struggled to wrench his arm from its position. No. No. No. Scorpius was looking at him in horror, and Al snarled, slamming his hand to the side in a burst of determination. The voice shrieked in frustration before he managed to break free of its slippery tentacles, banishing it from his mind.

The wand clattered distantly a few yards away, and he breathed heavily, looking up just in time to see a golden arrow pierce his arm.

Pain, jagged and hot.

He hissed, dropping to his feet once more as he clutched at his wound.

"_Confringo!_"

The yell pierced through the pain-induced haze, and he saw Adela standing firm, her messy hair whipping around her face as she watched the goblin fall. He wrenched himself up, running forward to conjure up ropes to tie the goblin down.

Then he was bending, plucking the wand that had caused so much destruction from the goblin's limp hand.

"Al!" He turned, Scorpius jerking his head in the direction of Adela. Oh no – a sinking feeling settled itself in his gut as he looked over just in time to see her fall to the ground.

"_Adela!_" He ran forward, slamming to the ground as he cradled her head to his chest. He roared, slamming his fist to the ground in frustration.

After a moment he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder. He looked up, still protectively standing over her body.

Scorpius coughed uncomfortably before saying softly, "Scamander's alive but he'll need some urgent care soon…as well as Lancaster, by the looks of it. We need to send for your father."

He nodded tightly before quickly transferring his attention back to Adela.

"Don't you dare die, Lancaster," he muttered angrily before lifting his wand to perform a healing spell.

The wand was wrenched from his hand quickly, and he looked up in anger to see Scorpius's enraged face.

"Are you _insane_? If you cast any more spells, there'll be another mark to add to the death count! I don't know how you're conscious as it is – you fought off an Imperius and suffered multiple wounds –"

He opened his mouth to angrily protest, but Scorpius cut him off, saying, "At least let me do it."

He scowled, his Slytherin pride rearing in protest to the charity, but one look at Adela's pale face made up his mind. He shut his mouth and nodded tightly, moving out of Scorpius's way. As the son of one of the most renowned Healers in the world, Scorpius had picked up many a spell from his father and was quite skilled at healing.

Still, that didn't mean he liked having Adela at the mercy of another bloke's spells.

He sighed, shifting his weight as he waited for the _pop_ that would signal his father's – and the rest of the bloody Ministry's – arrival.

He didn't want to face him or anyone else. He didn't want to see the disappointment on their faces – he had been a terrible leader. What kind of person let two people get severely wounded on their watch? He was incompetent, his worst fears realized…

"Oi! Don't do that woe is me thing again. You did a bloody brilliant job," came Scorpius's voice. He started, pulling from his thoughts with a sheepish smile.

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a loud noise.

_Pop_.

Brilliant.

He turned slowly, meeting emerald eyes that mirrored his own.

"Hello, Dad," he said uncomfortably. The last word had only just left his mouth when he found himself enveloped by two warm arms.

He stiffened before relaxing, patting his father awkwardly on the back.

Harry Potter pulled back after a moment and said fiercely, "I am so bloody proud of you, Albus. I am so proud to be your father."

He froze, his words caught in his throat. What? Had he just said - ? Swallowing heavily, he fidgeted uneasily before opening his mouth to say something – what, he wasn't completely sure, for at that moment his wound broke open, spilling crimson blood and the remnants of what looked to be the shield charm from before onto the debris below.

"Oh," he managed before succumbing to the darkness.

**Author Note: Thanks so much for your patience! It's so weird to have internet again haha xD I hoped you like this chapter in Al's view – hopefully it answered some questions! Please review! As always, all reviews are returned with a teaser of the next chapter c; **


	38. IV Drips and Crazed Teenage Girls

**IV Drips and Crazed Teenage Girls**

**WARNING: LAST CHAPTER UP AHEAD.**

**TAKE CAUTION.**

* * *

Running, running. It seemed like I was always running these days – honestly, you'd think I was a bloody Seeker and not a Beater.

Beaters do not run. They attack, yes, and sometimes stomp around angrily…but running? Never.

The cold, white, sanitized doors of the hospital blurred past me as I ran down hallway after hallway, pushing away startled nurses and families. After my initial moment of shock, I'd managed to extract Al's room number from one very intimidated Rose (I blustered on about ol' Bessie – she didn't have to know that ol' Bessie was currently in pieces) before attempting to rip my IV out and, when Rose threatened to petrify me if I continued, just grabbed the whole IV drip and rolled it with me as I ran.

So in short, I was certainly a sight to behold; messy, unwashed brown hair streaming behind one slightly insane-looking teenage girl in a hospital gown as she ran down the corridors while recklessly dragging an IV drip behind her. Woo.

313…314…315 – there! I screeched to a stop the second the gleaming silver numbers appeared, hissing in pain when the needle jerked against my left forearm at the sudden movement. Stupid thing – I'd always hated needles. The nurses always had to hold me down when I was younger and required to get regular vaccines…oh, sod off. Okay, so maybe they still need to do that – but that was beside the point.

Just as I was about to yank the door open, the metal door slid back, leaving my hand grasping at thin air. As I stumbled forward, I found myself staring at a pair of thick, expensive-looking black robes ordained simply with a badge reading "Minister of Magic" in clean golden embroidery. Eep.

Way to go, Adela. Of all the people to crash into…brilliant work as always.

Dear Merlin I – and Numberita – needed a break.

"Erm…sorry," I said awkwardly, jumping a half-meter away from Shacklebolt. Looking bemused, a smile slipped briefly onto his face before quickly becoming replaced with a more serious expression.

"Miss Lancaster, correct?" he asked solemnly, his voice deep and commanding – a voice that you couldn't help but listen to and respect. During the Great Battle Shacklebolt was an invaluable asset to our side and his ability to calm others and command attention was one of the major reasons our society didn't fall into total hysteria.

"Yes," I replied, shifting the IV drip six inches to my left so it wasn't directly in his face; no need to advertise my recent status as a patient (alright, so maybe I was still technically a patient) and encourage him to send me back before I could see Al.

He quirked an eyebrow but tactfully ignored my movement; "I just went to see Mr. Potter. I wished to offer him an early admission to the Merlin Auror Academy, but seeing his current state…well, I've sent an owl to his family but when he wakes up, will you pass on the information?"

I blinked before nodding slowly, unable to speak. _When_ he woke up, not if. Feeling overwhelmingly grateful for Shacklebolt's quiet confidence in Al's future, I grinned shakily.

"Of course," I said after a six second pause to collect myself. He returned my nod before slipping past me with a whirl of his robes.

Then his words hit me – the Merlin Auror Academy?

Merlin…the Merlin Auror Academy, or MAA, was founded in 1000 A.D. by a select group of the finest combat witches and wizards in all of history in response to the growing threat of international war between the conflicting nations and clans. It was critically acclaimed as the best Auror training university in all of Europe. It was unheard of for an Auror training university – _any_ university, really – to accept a student who hadn't even completed their Hogwarts education yet. Although the news was a bit surprising, after sixteen seconds Numberita reasoned it out – Al was certainly the most talented student in our year in defense against the dark arts and was incredibly intelligent, and there was the fact that he had helped lead everyone out of this whole…conflict.

I flinched at the latest thought that had come to Numberita; I still couldn't fully believe that the traumatising events of the past few hours were over. No maniacal goblin possessing powers unheard of prior to this conflict, no bloodthirsty werewolf careening deep into the realms of insanity, no medallions to control your loved ones…still, I couldn't dispel the bit of unease that still stubbornly lingered in the recesses of Numberita. What had Harry Potter and Mrs. Weasley spoken of before…? He'd mentioned someone escaping…Merlin, if it was Ragnuk I didn't know what I'd do…try as I might, I couldn't fully recall his words; Numberita was still struggling to pull free of the mind-numbing effects of the heavy duty painkillers the Healers had put me under.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of him leaving a year earlier; for, of course, he was going to take the opportunity – it would be incredibly foolish not to. Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was the reason he didn't pursue his dreams.

…It didn't mean that I wouldn't miss him, though.

Biting my lip, I pushed open the door and hobbled in to his room and the unconscious boy that awaited me.

The room was the same pristine white as the rest of the hospital, the only colour coming from the pile of flowers nestled against the back wall. Brilliantly hued flowers cascaded over each other, each delicately balanced bouquet bearing cards proclaiming various well wishes. Sliding my gaze from the flowers to Al's bed, I advanced cautiously, my eyes never leaving his pale face.

Bruises stained his skin, deep purple-red shades blossoming across his high cheekbones and the bit of his neck visible and continuing downward underneath the standard issue pale blue hospital gown. I lifted a trembling hand to brush a stray lock of raven hair from his forehead before sighing and gingerly sitting on the very edge of the cot.

"So, Al…how are you? Well, obviously you're not well, seeing as you're unconscious and everything…you got accepted into MAA – congratulations! Although, I don't know how much you'd want those congratulations, considering what had to happen in order to get it…stupid goblins. Al…I'm a bit worried; I heard someone talk about someone escaping – I just can't seem to remember _who_.

"What if all that stuff – Lorcan's _death_ – was for nothing? If – if Ragnuk _did _manage to slip the Ministry…how could the Aurors have let him _escape_? I fully expect you to revolutionize the system and fully revise the current Aurors' state; they're completely incompe-no, that's not right. I guess…Merlin, Al. Just please wake up. I don't know what to do – no one will tell me anything about Seth, my parents – _my parents_ – have yet to set foot in this hospital, and I'm scare-no, _terrified_ to face everyone after everything that's happened. After all the people who have died because of _my _stupidity, _my_ actions…God, Al. Please…_please_ wake up – you bloody prat, _wake up_!"

I angrily swiped at my cheeks, brushing away the hot tears that were threatening to spill over – and if I started crying now, there would be no stopping me for the next hour. And Merlin knows people had enough to deal with without a hysterically sobbing teenage girl on the third floor.

After sixteen seconds I'd collected myself enough to look back at Al. He breathed softly, his eyelids fluttering slightly as the heart monitor beside him droned on. He didn't deserve to be in a coma; he wouldn't even be in one if it hadn't been for my bloody shield charm…and even without the shield charm, I was the reason he charged into the cemetery without healing himself first like he usually would have done. He rushed to his demise to save a liar. My shoulders slumped, and I exhaled slowly for six seconds before brushing his cheek and standing up. I turned, moving to head to the door.

A soft clatter sounded behind me; what? My heart leaping to my throat, I whirled around, my eyes zeroing in on Al's still body. When Numberita was certain he was in the same position as he had been eight seconds ago, I sighed again before looking at the culprit of the disturbance – the bloody IV drip had gotten tangled with the iron bedpost. Frowning slightly and peering at the needle – Numberita estimated it to have gone in at a 170˚ angle – I applied just enough force to pluck the needle from my skin. The nuisance having been disposed of, I turned again to leave.

I only made things worse for the people I loved; Numberita saw that my involvement complicated matters and only served to injure the people I cared about. The only logical thing to do was to remove myself from the situation; allowing myself one last glance at Al's unconscious body, I smiled softly before lifting my hand eight inches to twist open the doorknob and leave for good.

"L-Lancaster?"

I froze, my fingers tightening on the slick metal, the color bleeding from them as I gripped the doorknob with all my strength. My heart was beating furiously, and I turned slowly, hardly daring to breath.

Hazel eyes met emerald ones – the monitor beside him beeped merrily, signaling that a dozen nurses were sure to barge in any moment now. My feet brought me forward without any direction from Numberita, and I stared at him from a distance of six inches, not daring to go any closer.

"Al?" Who was I kidding? I couldn't leave him any more than I could leave my very soul – Al was too great a part of me. One look at those green eyes and I was lost once more, rapidly losing my resolve to be selfless for one time in my life and do the right thing.

He smiled, wincing a bit when the movement pulled at the stitches lining the left side of his face.

"Hi," he murmured. A half-strangled laugh escaped from my lips before I could rein it back in, and I furiously blinked away the tears that had stubbornly appeared once more.

"Hi," I breathed, a wide grin forcing its way onto my face. He inclined his chin and peered down the length of his body, his brows furrowing when he took note of his bound legs and the stiff bandages encircling his torso.

"Well, I guess this means no more Quidditch," he said lightly. I scowled, barely restraining my urge to reach over and smack him for his foolishness and sheer idiocy.

"No dueling, either. Or anything that doesn't pass the Adela seal of approval," I said sternly.

He grinned, causing my heart to melt – no. _No_. This had gone on long enough – I had to get this over with. I owed it to him – and myself. How could I respect myself if I continued to lie to the one person who truly accepted me – quirks and all?

So when he opened his mouth to say something – probably something equally witty and sarcastic, knowing Al – I cut in, swallowing my fear and stubbornly plowing forward.

"Al – listen. I have something I need to tell you," I said hurriedly, my words rushing together in my nervousness. He frowned slightly but nodded, instantly sobering.

"Erm…well, remember that time in the library?" I didn't wait for a reply, instead fixing my gaze on the bouquets across the room and continuing, "Well, Emily came and she wanted to see you, but you obviously didn't want to talk to her, so I transfigured your face a bit. And…remember how you asked me in Hogsmeade if you'd done something weird during the library time because your memory was all foggy? Well, I might have kissed you and then freaked out and Obliviated you and I'm _so_ sorry and I _meant_ to tell you but I just got too freaked out and by the time I'd made up my mind to tell you it was too late and then Ragnuk came and I – I – words cannot convey how deeply sorry I am. I know I betrayed your trust, but that was the _only_ time I lied to you, I swear – and – Merlin, Al, please say something." My words broke, the syllables wrenching painfully at my throat as I finally looked at him. He didn't meet my eyes, his face stony and unreadable.

"You Obliviated me," he said finally, his words cold and unforgiving. I bit back a sob, knowing that crying would only make matters worse, and nodded, inwardly pleading for him to look at me – do _something _other than retreat into that cold, blank slate he used to don whenever James came around.

"Y-yes," I answered, my voice trembling.

"And lied to my face for half a year."

I looked down, my face flushing in shame, before forcing myself to look back up – I deserved this. I'd _known_ that Al didn't trust easily, and yet I'd still lied to him. Merlin, Adela. You've really botched things up – congratulations.

"Yes," I whispered.

I was spinning, slipping, sliding down into a dark abyss; my voice was faint, my heart beat quickly, my hands sweated…a dull ringing pounded into my ears as I silently willed Al to just _look_ at me, to laugh and say that he forgave me, for things to go back to what they had been before the goblins, before the library incident, before everything that could have gone wrong did.

He finally turned to meet my eyes, and I was horrified to see that all traces of the Al I loved were gone – only cold, purposeful Slytherin intent remained. He opened his mouth once more, but I never got to hear what he said, for at that moment the door banged open and a horde of white-clad nurses rushed in.

"What are you doing sitting up? Lie back down, young man! You've suffered multiple fractures and deep cuts as well as severe trauma to the head!" the closest nurse ordered. A pretty Asian Healer who was efficiently flipping through a clipboard soon joined her, her brows furrowing as she scanned through Al's charts.

"Hello, I'm Healer Park. It says you've suffered a rotational concussion, probably as a result of the duel with the werewolf…but the scans show you have a bit of damage to your cerebrum that is far too concentrated to have been a result of the concussion – can you recall being hit with a memory charm by one of the goblin's henchmen? If so, the law enforcement will want you to testify which one so he or she can be suitably punished."

I froze, icy fingers mercilessly gripping my heart; _I'd_ been the one to Obliviate Al – had it caused that much damage? I shot a terrified glance at Al, but he was looking at the Healer – was he going to turn me in? After all, it was what I deserved – the logical step, really. The criminal sent to Azkaban…I thought belatedly of the place Hermione Granger-Weasley had offered me and couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

"No, I can't recall the exact attacker. It was very dark and chaotic, as I'm sure you would understand," he said evenly, never breaking his eye contact. What? What was he doing? I realized my mouth was wide open and quickly shut it, looking away from Al to study my hands.

"Mm…right, out, the lot of you! My patient needs rest and _quiet_. You – Skeeter – this is the _last_ time I'm going to tell you to leave the premises before I send in the MLE after your sorry arse," she ordered briskly, her hands on her hips. The reporters and nurses muttered before reluctantly leaving, Skeeter – the blonde woman from before – shooting several nasty glances at the Healer and me.

Healer Park followed Skeeter's glare to me and laughed, shaking her head softly.

"What'd you do to earn Skeeter's wrath?" she asked as she checked Al's pulse. To my surprise, she looked quite young, maybe in her mid-twenties at the oldest.

"Subjected her to the Adela rant on the heinous and immoral aspect of the media today," I answered.

"Ravenclaw?" She moved on to bandaging Al's shoulder and, removing a delicate instrument from the pocket of her robes, began methodically removing the stitches from Al's cheek.

I blinked, surprised – was it that obvious?

"Yeah – er, how'd you know?"

"I saw you counting the number of reporters in this room and the way you followed my every word when I spoke of his rotational concussion."

"Oh."

"I was a Hufflepuff…the best house, you know," she said lightly. Al snorted, wincing when the movement caused the scissors to dig a bit harder than necessary into his skin. She reprimanded him sternly and removed the last of the stitches, moving back to wash her hands and throw the discarded thread into the rubbish bin.

"Right, well, seeing as you're obviously family and therefore able to visit-" here she threw a wink in my direction "-I'll leave you two to it! Ring for a nurse if you suffer from any extreme pain."

After the door clanged shut behind her, I fidgeted, unsure of what to say.

"Why'd you lie?" I finally asked.

"I can't even look at you right now, but that doesn't mean I want you in Azkaban," he said stiffly, staring at the wall farthest from me. My heart sank at his blunt words, but I swallowed and pressed on determinedly.

"Th-thank you. Al, I'm really sorry – I know what I did was wrong and I won't try to excuse my actions, but – but I won't beg. I can't do that to myself. I've finally gotten over my need to overcompensate for my father's dismissal and disappointment and I've finally – _finally_ accepted myself as a Ravenclaw. I lov-I will certainly miss you, but I will not let myself beg," I said, forcing my voice to stop trembling. I lifted my chin, masking my inner turmoil and panic as I watched him silently. My fingers fumbled with the bottom of my gown, twisting the thin material nervously as I waited for his reply.

"I know you won't. I don't expect you to – I…I just can't deal with this right now. I'm sorry," he said wearily, finally turning to face me. I bit my lip, hating the way my eyes were tearing up.

"Are-are you breaking up with me?" I asked tremulously, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left my lips – Merlin, I sounded so _needy_. What was wrong with me?

Dear Merlin how was Numberita even thinking at this point? I felt like dying, running away, melting into the floor – being anywhere other than here, listening to the boy I loved coldly bid me goodbye.

"I'm sorry," he said again. I nodded stiffly, turning quickly so he wouldn't see the tears that had broken free.

"Right – I – I hope you get better soon, Al. Shacklebolt's going to offer you a place at the Merlin Auror Academy…and for what it's worth, I think you should take it – it – it's a great opportunity, and-"

I stopped talking, the sobs beginning to catch in my throat; I had to get out of here. I yanked open the door haphazardly and rushed outside, a cry escaping from my mouth as soon as the door shut behind me.

I let out a long, shaking breath, leaning heavily on the cool metal surface as I struggled to calm myself down. Get a grip, Adela! He can still hear you – you're stronger than this. You can do this.

"Are you alright?"

I looked up, barely making out Healer Park's concerned face from a veil of murky tears. I nodded blearily, swiping at my face. A wave of resolve washed over me, and I straightened, angrily willing my eyes to just _stop crying_. I'd faced a goblin. I'd faced several grown wizards. I'd faced a bloody _werewolf_, for Merlin's sake. I could get through this silly teenage breakup…I ignored the whispering thought that this wasn't just another trivial teenage trauma.

I'd buy myself a pint of ice cream and another Beater bat and I would make it through. I always did.

"Yes," I said firmly. "I'm fine."

She hesitated but nodded after six seconds. "Would you like to see your brother? He's well enough to receive visitors now."

I grinned, images of a smiling and admittedly overly exuberant blonde replacing thoughts of the dark haired boy in the room behind me.

"Lead the way."

And so we walked, each step leading me farther and farther away from the green-eyed boy that had come to mean the world to me.

Uncaring parents, boys who I'd betrayed and who would never trust me again, and maniacal goblins who had somehow escaped and were probably thirsting for revenge aside…I would live – I wasn't Awesome Adela for nothing. I would get up, push all thoughts of the past few days from Numberita, and tackle my brother as soon as I saw him.

After all, tomorrow was another day full of ripe possibilities. I was no longer alone; I had brilliant friends and a future job at Hermione Granger's firm. Besides, I had more pressing matters to focus on; Ragnuk was still out there. The effects of the painkillers had finally worn off, Numberita was convinced that he was the name I'd heard. Sure, it was a bit worrisome – but I wasn't alone.

Although the prospect of one angry cat – dear Merlin I hadn't fed Sir Archibald in sixty-eight hours – was a bit of a damper (alright, it was downright _terrifying_), I would survive.

No, I'd do better - I would _live_.

END

**Author Note: This is the end. Wow that's terrifying to say – I still can't believe that it's over (well, not completely – don't worry! There's still an epilogue and a whole sequel). This marks my longest fanfiction ever and the first that I have finished. Needless to say, I'm a bit in shock. Sorry for the semi-sad ending! But there's always the sequel to smooth things over ;D**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read and stuck with this story through long road trips and exams. You all rock! **

**~E**


	39. Epilogue : And So It Ends

**Epilogue : And So It Ends**

_Twenty-Two Days, Three Hours, and Twenty-Two Minutes Later_

"Are you ready?"

The words were a bit hesitant, almost as if the speaker was scared to even speak to me for fear that I would burst into tears at the first sign of human contact. I resisted the urge to laugh bitterly - well, it's always a great sign when your friends are afraid to approach you and your potential mental insanity.

Honestly, I hadn't even been _that_ bad in the twenty-two days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes since the Incident. Sure, I'd broken a few plates in my bacon withdrawal and eaten my weight in ice cream, but other than that...well, I was just glad I still went out. And actually spoke to people instead of resorting to the vegetative state Seth annoyingly calls the "Adela Potato." Which doesn't even make sense.

No matter. Realizing that Rose was still waiting an answer - and growing more visibly anxious as Each silent second ticked by - I smiled softly and met her eyes, turning away from the mirror.

"Of course I am. Well, as much as I can be...but how are you doing?"

The last question was tinged with genuine worry; as incredibly capable and intelligent as Rose was, even she couldn't handle the days of nonstop questioning and organisation that the post-goblin panic (or PGP as I dubbed it...which also conveniently stood for Paranoia Gone Prehistoric. Which was basically me just picking random words that started with those letters but IT STILL WORKED OKAY).

During PGP Rose had been a steadfast presence and was often the one fending off greedy reporters (namely Skeeter) and helping to ensure that each student got proper medical attention and a psych evaluation. She'd been working nonstop, and her face was drawn and worryingly pale.

She smiled ruefully, tucking a stray lock of curly red hair back into the tidy knot collected at the base of her neck. Adjusting the sophisticated black hat perched atop her curls, she echoed my prior statement, saying, "As I'll ever be."

My fingers automatically drifted upward to lightly touch the black silk ribbon encircling my matching black hat, the supple material trailing downward to just brush the end of my braid (my hair, for once, actually resembled hair and not a matted tumbleweed).

I sighed shakily, forcing my hands to relax by my sides and resisting the urge to worry at the material of the black dress I'd purchased for the occasion.

Why all the black?

Well...when else do people uniformly wear black? It was Lorcan and Rolf Scamanders' joint funeral service. It had been delayed until now due to the resulting chaos during PGP, but times had finally settled enough for Hermione Granger-Weasley herself to organise this service.

Rose and I had met up in the Burrow to get ready together before heading to the cemetery with the rest of the Wotters. A-the boy who must not be named (TBWMNBN? Note to self - find a more efficient way of shortening) - thankfully had already left with his older brother by the time I'd arrived (which was twenty minutes and sixteen seconds ago).

Merlin...Lorcan was only fourteen. He should be here exchanging odd theories with his brother and anyone else who would listen, smirking that odd all knowing smile of his, laughing, playing Quidditch, _living_.

Death should have an age minimum...or at least a checklist of things one must do before they have to pass away. There was _no_ reason a fourteen-year-old should have died...no reason for a father to realize in horror that his son was dead by his hand.

A light touch jolted me from my troubling thoughts; I looked down to see a pale, freckled hand lightly grasping my left forearm. I shook my head to her unspoken question, gently detaching myself from her hold. No, I was all right. After all - I was not the important one here. I followed Rose's gaze to the frail woman gazing forlornly out of the window on the opposite end of the spacious main living area. Everyone else had already left for the Ministry-provided carriages that would take us to the cemetery.

Luna Scamander - Lorcan and Lysander's mother and Rolf's wife of sixteen years. Major part of the Great Battle, invaluable in her bravery and inexhaustible source of optimism back in Hogwarts while Harry, Hermione, and Ron were out hunting Horcruxes.

Luna Scamander - widow and grieving mother. Lysander was being transported to the funeral at a other time directly from St. Mungo's, where he was still hospitalized due to complications with his wounds - the blasted Ragnuk had cursed him with some unknown spell, but Healer Malfoy - the best critical condition Healer St. Mungo's had to offer - was working tirelessly to research a cure. Or at least a way to enable him to walk once more; Ragnuk, the vindictive goblin he was, severed the main nerves in Lysander's spine, an act that was completely unnecessary and could only have been completed with sheer and malicious determination on Ragnuk's part.

I inclined my head slightly to Rose, an unspoken pact of agreement passing between us, before heading towards Mrs. Scamander. It was times like this that I was amazed that I'd only gotten close to Rose this year - had I still thought of her as a standoffish Wotter only a few months ago? Now she was one of my dearest friends, one of the only people who could pull me out of my occasional bouts of darkness whenever I thought of the events of that day...or TBWMNBN.

Pale, feeble light filtered in weakly through the window, the heavy grey clouds looming above blocking any hope of sun. Although it wasn't raining, Numberita quickly calculated that judging by the density and colour of the clouds - and the number of equally dark clouds moving in from a kilometer to the west to join the hordes - it was bound to start raining by two. All in all it was fitting weather for such a depressing day.

"Mrs. Scamander?" Rose said cautiously once we'd neared Mrs. Scamander. She was dressed not in black but in robes of pure white. Somehow it was more fitting; with her loose, pale hair and lengths of wispy white cloth, she resembled a forlorn ghost. There was a sense of /emptiness to her; with black, at least there was something depressing as it was. With white there was nothing to grasp onto, no semblance of life, no colour at all...no life. The infamous - yet cheery - yellow of the robes she wore to Fleur's wedding were long gone.

She didn't turn for another twenty seconds, and when she did her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"The moon frogs are everywhere today," she said lightly, her blue eyes focusing on something far away. When I turned behind me quickly to see what she was looking at, I saw only a blank cream coloured wall.

"Rose Weasley. Adela Lancaster," she continued in her high, clear voice, looking at each of us in turn and fixing her disconcertingly distracted gaze on our startled faces.

"Call me Luna. Heliopaths are drawn to the usage of surnames..." And with that note, she turned back to stare out the window. I craned my neck, peering around her frail form to look out the glass; a line of solemn black carriages bordered the long gravel driveway, the barren trees swaying slightly in an unseen wind, the gnarled shadowed branches clawing at the clouds above.

"Mrs...er, Luna...are you alright?" I asked hesitantly. She whirled around with a vehemence that shocked both of us, her face flushed and her eyes focused directly on me.

"No. I am _not_ all right. My son is dead, my other son paralyzed in a hospital _infested_ with Gulping Plimpies and my husband dead at some twisted goblin's hand," she said viciously, her every word biting and filled with anguished pain.

I blinked, my heart aching at her obvious grief and my inability to help - what did one say - what _could_ one say - to a grieving mother and wife? How could mere words help? They wouldn't bring back her loved ones...I exchanged a stricken look with Rose; she was as obviously lost for words as I was.

"Erm..."

"Excuse me, girls," came a voice from behind us. I whirled around, my hand automatically flying to the pocket where I kept my wand; after the events of that night - and the fact that Ragnuk had in fact escaped the Ministry and was currently at large - I found that I never went anywhere without my wand at ready reach at a moment's notice.

At least Greyback was safely in Azkaban – he, however, had some unexpected rich anonymous supporters, for it was proving very difficult to convict him and sentence him to the Kiss.

I relaxed when I saw a familiar tweed coat and brown hair; Professor Longbottom.

"Hello, Professor," Rose said after a moment, her polite and slightly over eager tendencies (oh, I still love her) kicking in automatically. He nodded to her and flashed a smile before resting a hand on Luna's back and leaning in, whispering something in her ear. She stiffened for two seconds before nodding slowly, slumping wearily as she let herself be drawn away from the window.

Oh - I'd forgotten that Professor Longbottom was good friends with Luna.

"I'll take it from here - go join the others at the carriages," he said. I nodded, watching him lead her to the door that led to the field where the carriages - and the funeral - awaited us.

"Right, I suppose we ought to go as well," Rose said after thirty-two seconds. I nodded my agreement and we began walking silently, my fingers brushing idly across the bunches of white lilies scattered across the room.

I paused for a second before the thick wooden door, gathering my resolve. Right, I could do this. I would _not_ cry. I refused to - I wouldn't, _couldn't_ start...I had to appear brave. I knew that as a main participant in the goblin events - the Night Things Went Terribly Wrong, or NTWTW - many students had latched on to me (Merlin knew why - I went around shouting random numbers and threatening people with Adela tackles - hardly the person to inspire confidence, if you asked me) and the others as role models and leaders to look to for guidance, and if I started crying others would as well and then the already sad event would become sadder and...

Right, enough deliberation - I set my jaw and pushed open the door, stepping out into the cold winter air and the clouds that waited outside.

When the last handful of dry, crumbling dirt had been dropped over Lorcan and Mr. Scamander's graves, a certain hush fell over the field. People were crying, people were tearing up, people were sobbing in each other's arms.

I stubbornly held in my tears, staring determinedly at my trainers. I was not alone; Luna and Lysander Scamander stood silently off to the side, each one just…standing, their eyes never leaving the twin marble headstones marking the place where their loved ones lay underground. Lysander was also clad in pure white robes, and I worriedly noted that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Finally he jerked forward, his movement abrupt and violent, and stumbled towards the marble headstone where his brother lay, pushing past the crowds of sobbing well-wishers.

He paused, his back facing us, his fingers curling into tight fists. His mother stood frozen – by grief or surprise, Numberita couldn't figure it out –

Lysander turned slowly, his face dry and devoid of any emotion. He exchanged a glance with someone in the audience – I turned quickly, just managing to catch a glimpse of Lily's returning nod – before Lily said clearly, "_Sonorus_."

His voice now amplified, Lorcan stood tall, and it was all too obvious to us all that these past few events had changed him – gone was the innocent, gangly boy who ran around clumsily and spoke about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks to anyone who would listen.

"Lorcan wasn't just my brother. He was always my best friend, my companion, my protector…and now – to have him reduced to yet another number, yet another victim? Oh, how bloody _tragic_ – that Lovegood boy has died. Let's write his name in history books; let's chalk him up as just one more victim of that bloody goblin's rampage! Another tally to gasp about, the horror of it all!"

He paused, drawing in a long, shaking breath as he struggled to still his trembling voice. When he looked up once more, his eyes were icy and his voice fierce.

"_He was more than that_. He – and my dad – are _not _some victims to mourn over, _not _the martyrs of the night, and definitely _not _juicy news for your next scoop for the _Daily Prophet_!" he hissed venomously, his eyes piercing and accusatory. All heads turned to fixate on one slightly-sheepish looking cameraman and one disgruntled Rita Skeeter, who only grudgingly put away her Quick Quotes quill when one very familiar dark-haired boy pointed a wand at her.

I froze, my heart leaping to my throat; Al. I hadn't seen – or heard from – him since the night everything blew to pieces. I tried desperately to catch his eye, but he didn't meet my gaze – whether it was on purpose or because there were approximately twenty-six people between us, Numberita didn't know.

Lysander, who had resumed talking, soon recaptured my attention.

"He – he didn't deserve to die. But he isn't a victim. My dad isn't a victim. They were _people_. Lorcan was my _brother_, my _twin_, half of my soul. And my dad? My dad was the one who taught me how to ride my broomstick, how to keep away the Nargles, the one who laughed and joked and _lived_. So _stop _with these tears. They won't bring them – any of them – back. We should be out there _right now_. We should be _fighting_, we – we shou-" and he finally broke down, his voice breaking. I think my heart broke at that exact moment, and I could only watch as he turned around swiftly and swiped haphazardly at his eyes. Lily quietly lifted the spell and the stunned silence resonated across the cemetery.

Luna rushed forward to hug her son, two solemn white figures shaking silently with unshed tears and grief that could not be conveyed in words…but grief that Lysander had painted so vividly that I could no longer hold back my tears.

His loss reminded me so much of what could have happened to me – to Seth. When you have a twin, you don't just have another sibling – you have another _you_, another whole part of you that may live a separate life from you but is still another part of your very soul nonetheless. Turning my head to the left, I caught eyes with Seth. He smiled sadly and moved over the three and a half meters to stand next to me.

Taking comfort in his presence, I returned his smile before transferring my gaze back to the front. Harry Potter had ushered the duo to the waiting arms of the whole Wotter clan, and he now stood at the front of the clearing.

"Lysander's right. We can't give up – we can't wallow in our misery. We lost two incredible people tonight who will _never _be forgotten. And we will do _all that we can _to bring Ragnuk to justice," he said firmly, looking painfully like Al in his determined and stubborn stance.

After that people dispersed, either too sad or too shell-shocked to really interact with anyone else. I tried looking for Al, but he had already disappeared, melted into the departing crowds. I sighed, another pang hitting my heart – it had been almost a month and I still felt just as miserable as I did the very first day. I drifted to the side, pausing at a stone bench that overlooked the small, lily pad-choked pond in the center of the cemetery.

"Adela?"

I turned, my eyes widening when I saw Lily. Why was she talking to me? Sure, we weren't enemies – far from it, actually – but we hadn't talked since that time on the train when she helped untangle my hair; Merlin, that felt like a _century _ago. Why was she here and not with Lysander or the rest of the Wotters?

She lifted a long black velvet box from inside her black beaded bag and thrust it at me. I took it slowly, my brows furrowing in confusion; it was approximately thirty-three centimeters long and nine centimeters wide – a wand? No, it was too wide to hold a slender wand. What could it be? And why was Lily Potter of all people giving it to me?

"I…I found it in Al's room. I know he planned on giving it to you for Christmas, and seeing as he's being a stubborn prat right now and how he'll be leaving next week for MAA…well, I thought you should have it," she explained.

I froze at the mention of Al's name, swallowing thickly before saying, "Oh."

"Open it," she said in a surprisingly gentle voice for such a usually bossy fourteen-year-old before smiling encouragingly at me and turning to head towards Lysander.

I stared at her back for a good twenty-two seconds before looking down at the box I now gripped with whitened fingers. I took a deep, shuddering breath to calm my rapidly beating heart.

Okay. I could do this. I was stronger than this bloody _box, _for Merlin's sake.

Lifting the lid slowly with trembling fingers, I gasped when I saw what lay underneath. How I managed to not drop it, I would never know – good thing I didn't, though, for inside lay the opal quill I'd seen in Scrivenshaft's all those months ago.

"Merlin," I breathed, lifting it carefully from its velvet bed to rest on the palm of my hand. It was just as breathtaking as it had been when I'd first seen it; all shimmering luminescence with ephemeral flashes of subtle shades of pearl.

I let out another long, shaking breath, clutching the quill to my chest.

"Merlin," I repeated, closing my eyes and collapsing on the bench, all strength leaving my legs. I didn't know how long I just sat on that bench, the cold fog seeping through my dress and settling in my very bones, just holding that quill and thinking of everything I could have but didn't do…all the lives that were gone, the goblins running free…everything.

When had he gotten this for me? How had he remembered that I'd loved it – it had only been a brief moment of admiration on one random day…but then again, this was Al – the same boy who'd hunted down a pile of quills for a girl he had tolerated at best.

Why hadn't he thrown it away when we broke up?

Soft footsteps sounded from my right. Without opening my eyes, I said wearily, "Hey Seth."

He sat down carefully next to me, sighing softly. I opened my eyes and looked at him; although he still managed to keep a relatively cheerful demeanor (at least compared to the rest of our miserable lot), the events had taken a toll on him as well – his hands shook slightly whenever he didn't consciously try to stop them and his cheeks were hollowed out, his golden hair shorn close to his scalp.

"Hey Adela," he answered. He turned to me and asked worriedly, "How are you holding up?"

I smiled, thinking of how his question so mirrored Rose's from before. I pushed the troubling thoughts from my mind, replacing them with thoughts of what I _did _have – friends, a future position at the GW firm, and Seth. My brother, my twin, my best friend.

Seeing my smile, he relaxed visibly, an easy grin slipping onto his face.

"I'm great, Seth."

"Awesome! Does that mean you'll practice some Quidditch with me? I know you're a Ravenclaw and all, but Scorpius and I have been absolutely _dying _to have a third player – there's only so much you can do with two blokes and a Quaffl - dear Merlin wait that sounded weird!"

I laughed at that, the loud sound surprising both myself and a flock of ducks that quacked disapprovingly at me.

"Sure. But only if you agree to be my target practice for a session of at _least _one hour," I said.

"Thirty minutes," he countered.

I frowned – honestly, how dumb did he think I was? A Quidditch practice session with Scorpius and Seth combined basically meant three week's worth of bruises – they lived up to the Slytherin name and did _not _play fair.

"One hour."

"Forty minutes."

"One hour."

"Fifty minutes."

"One hour."

"Fifty-five minutes."

"One hour."

"Oh, come on!"

"Fine – fifty-nine minutes."

"…Deal."

We exchanged grins – Seth always lost in a battle of wills with me, and he knew it perfectly well – before he sobered and said, "Hey – Adela."

"Yeah?"

"I…I just wanted to let you know that you were amazing. What you did during…that night, I mean."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued hurriedly, saying, "No, wait. Let me finish. You were so brave and so – so – you were a _leader_, Adela. But more than that – you kept a level head, you didn't freak out…and as cheesy as it sounds, you led us all with your wisdom and wit in the face of great adversity. I've always been slightly jealous of you, you know."

I blinked, my mouth dropping open – _he _was jealous of _me_? Seeing my astonished look, he frowned in confusion before saying, "Yeah, of course I was! How could I not be? You know I'm not the most intelligent bloke out there, but I've _always _wanted to be that person who people admired – everyone admires you. Me? I was bloody knocked out for the most of that night – you had to come to my rescue. That was the reason you – and many other people – got hurt. And now I don't know if I can play Quidditch – not professionally like I wanted, anyways. Not with these fingers."

He looked down angrily at his shaking hands before fisting them in his shirt.

I…I had no idea how to respond to that. Numberita – no, _I _– had had no idea he felt that way.

"Seth…I was always jealous of _you_, to be honest. The Slytherin golden boy, the pride of the Lancaster family…I always felt shunted to the side just because of my house, and although I know that it was bloody _stupid _of our parents to do that…when I was younger it really affected me. Father went from having two children to one – all because of that bloody hat's declaration," I said finally, my mouth curling in disgust with the very mention of my father.

"Father's a right prick," Seth said heatedly, the anger in his voice surprising me.

"Seth?" I asked hesitantly.

"I'm sorry I didn't stick up for you more – I was a right coward. I think I always knew something was not right, but I chose to ignore it, to hide it away so I could keep living my perfect illusion," he spat bitterly.

I lifted a tentative hand to rest on his shoulder.

"It's okay," I said – and it really was. Sure, I'd let it get to me for a few years, but what mattered was that now I was over it. Besides, Seth had really been the only one that mattered, and he never saw me any differently after the Sorting.

He smiled weakly at me before we settled into a comfortable silence, two siblings gazing out at a fog-laced pond and a future as daunting as it was encouraging.

I sat quietly, lost in my thoughts as I stared into the distance. It was really quite peaceful here…I had time to think, to finally organise all the thoughts that had been swirling around in Numberita for the past month.

Ah, peace and quiet…

Then –

"Oi! No mention of this mushy stuff to any of my mates, you hear?" Seth blustered after eight minutes and sixteen seconds.

I grinned, shifting to punch him in the shoulder.

"We'll see," I said lightly.

"Oi!" he said again.

I laughed again, smiling at the brother who yes, was a Slytherin, and yes, had been the one to inherit my parents' looks and yes, had been the obviously favoured child all these years…

But he was also the brother who stuck by me when people at Hogwarts teased me for my eccentric tendencies, the brother who I used to play pranks on back in primary school, the brother who could always - _always _cheer me up when Numberita got bogged down by heavy thoughts.

And I wouldn't have him any other way.

**Author Note (July 24, 2013): And so the story begins and ends with one certain blonde Lancaster. I've always been a huge sucker for loving familial relationships (siblings who stick together never fails to warm my heart!), and I thought they ought to have at least one long conversation to sort out all the angst before this story ended.**

** Wow, this turned out to be a much longer epilogue than I had planned xD. **

** Anyway, thanks again to everyone – old and new readers – who has taken the time to read this (very) long story! Eight months and a week (at the time I'm writing this), more than 120,000 words, thirty-nine chapters, 50,000 hits, 115 favourites, 176 alerts, and almost 550 reviews later…it's finished.**

** Wow. I never thought I would say that – this is my longest fanfic and the first one I have **_**ever **_**completed. **

** I would not have been able to complete it without your support. Thank you so much for everything!**

** It's odd to think that I will look back on this some day (maybe as an adult) to see this story…but anyways, thanks again! I will be working on the sequel, but until then perhaps you would like to check out my Hunger Games fic (CatoxKatniss, considerably angstier than this one if at all possible haha) ;D /wink. **

** Oh! And before I forget – I have an insufferable plot bunny (grumblegrumble) – **_**have**_** had for the past few months, actually – of a possible novel-length story set in the OQaS-verse but with another OC as the main character (you've actually already met her in this story – props to whoever guesses who it is ;P ). I'm considering making it Teddy/OC but that might be subject to change, depending on popular response/further planning. **

** So, anyway, I'll be starting the sequel to OQas before starting that story, of course, but until then I'd love if you guys answered the poll I have on my profile (about whether I should make that story – not the sequel – in first or third person). Thanks!**

** For the last time (well, not really),**

** E.**


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